


The March of Kasterborous and Gallifrey Prompt Fills

by Nehszriah



Series: The March of Kasterborous and Gallifrey [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fantasy AU, Fluff, Gen, Kidfic, Prompt Fic, nobility au, so many cutes so little time, some listed characters are basically minor cameos, will add more characters/tags as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 56,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5507633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fills concerning the March of Kasterborous and Gallifrey verse (In Want of An Heir/Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daniel and Martha, First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So I was going through my writing tumblr earlier and realized that I have an interestingly large amount of IWoAH/SASBB prompts that I have yet to share here. This is where I'm going to post them for everyone to read, as little side-stories that cannot be stretched into a chapter-length post.
> 
> -_-_-_-_-_-_-
> 
> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: How Danny met Martha in SASBB
> 
> Originally posted: 12 April 2015
> 
> Notes: 1159 words; not written in the normal SASBB voice because I want to use their names, holla; takes place when he's 36 and she's 31 and is only their first meeting

Daniel's stomach churned as he sat in the medical tent waiting on the physician. Medical Officer Jones was due to meet with him any moment now—a gifted field surgeon, he only heard praise of her talents when it came to battle-gained wounds and _bodily alterations_. She had been able to ungraft an eye stalk that had been fused to a soldier's skull while in Daleki custody, even separating it from the corneal nerves without much damage. If anyone had any hope of helping him, it was her.

"Jones will be with you _dalek_ , Your Lordship," someone said, poking their head in the tent flap. They quickly ducked back out again—Daniel was used to it. Since he returned to Kasterborous three years prior, he was on the receiving end of more stares and hushed whispers than when he had been courting his old love, his impossible love, the one who was whisked off and wed before he could find her again and mourned him while growing another romance anew as he survived the icy cold Hell that was the prisoner camp. Even the King could not keep his eyes on him for too long while honoring the torture he endured with a title and estate. He was lonely and withdrawing more as time went by, and with any luck the best surgeon in Kasterborous's army, possibly the best surgeon in the kingdom, could help him reverse that.

Before long, a woman in a long medic's jacket stepped into the tent. She was slim in build and possessed the same deep coloring he did before his complexion became permanently ashen. Her eyes flicked over him quickly before she put on her professional's mask.

"Hello there," she said congenially, holding out her hand. "I'm Medical Officer Martha Jones."

"Daniel Pink." He shook her hand and watched as she pulled up a chair and straddled it while examining the contents of the clipboard in her hand. "Thanks for agreeing to see me."

"It's not a problem," she replied. "Alright Baron Coal-on-the-Hill, I know why you're here, but I would like to hear it in your words,"

" _Daniel_ , please," he insisted. "I'm just like you; I just got into an interesting situation, is all."

Martha narrowed her eyes as she studied his face—it was not as responsive as most normal faces. He had held near the exact same expression the entire time she was there. It was sad and defeated, though there were twitches, tells, that gave it more life than that.

"Go on."

"In a little over a year's time, I'm going to enter the household of the Marquis of Kasterborous and Gallifrey as personal tutor to his daughter Lena," he explained. He folded his hands and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The Marquis and Marchioness do not fear me, but I've purposely stayed away from their children because I don't know how they'd react to my face. I want…" Tears welled in his eyes and his voice cracked as he tried to keep his composure. "I want to know if you can change me back."

Sighing, the physician took a kerchief from her pocket and handed it to her patient. "Here—dry your eyes and take off your shirt. I need to see what I'm up against before I can give any sort of diagnosis."

"Thank you," Daniel nodded. He wiped the tears from his eyes and complied, shedding his jacket first and then his shirt. Watching Martha's face was a welcome sight, for she didn't flinch or cringe like so many others had before her. Instead, she stared with the utmost curiousness.

"May I?" she asked, motioning towards him.

"You may," he replied. Carefully, Martha touched the delicate metal plating on his chest, the studding along his arms, and the knobs at various pressure points across his torso. She made careful notes on her clipboard, making impressed noises all the while.

"I have to say: you're the most complete Cyberconversion I've ever seen that still has his wits about him," she said. Tapping the end of her pen on one of his knuckle caps, she frowned in thought. "With that being the case, I'm not sure how much use I'll be to you."

"I was told I can take as long as I need to for the recovery," he said. "If it's a matter of multiple surgeries over a period of time, I can handle it."

"It's not that; this is all drilled into your bones and in some cases integrated with your muscular system." She shook her head and put her hand on his shoulder. "The next-closest Cyberconversion I've ever seen, that our medicine has ever seen, was collarbone and wrist studding, and when we tried to extract the modifications she _died_. You may have heard about my expertise, but it's in reversing Daleki alterations. Dalek's conversions aren't as permanent as Cybera's, and once they're in you they're there for life. These are benign otherwise, correct?"

Daniel nodded quietly.

"Then you will simply have to continue living life as you have since you returned from Cybera. I'm sorry."

"At least you looked—not many people will even look."

"If someone can't stomach the opportunity to observe Cyberconversion close up like this while being safe at the same time, then they should turn in their medical licenses," Martha scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You're a marvel, and I wouldn't hide if I were you."

"…the kids though," Daniel sighed. He sniffled and wiped his nose with the kerchief. "They need to be able to trust me and know I'm their friend. How many children are friends with monsters?"

"How many children get the chance to inherit a marquisate?" she shrugged. "Don't worry about it—if the Marquis and Marchioness don't fear you, then their daughters won't. He's a thick-skulled blockhead, but Johan Lonan is a good man."

"I could report you for treason," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching up. He pulled his shirt back on and reached for his jacket. "Johan Lonan might be merciful, but I hear his wife is the one to watch out for."

"You would know, from what I gather," Martha smirked. She then turned her expression softer, kinder. "This is the only diagnosis medicine can give, you're aware of that, right?"

"I had an inkling before I came, but I had to be sure," Daniel said. "Can I be bold and ask a favor?"

"Sure."

"Let's part as friends," he offered. "There aren't many willing to treat me as you do anymore."

"Everyone deserves a friend," Martha agreed. "You're a human being, Daniel, and all human beings need friends."

"It's actually Rupert, but Daniel is better," he chuckled, shaking her hand. "I hope we meet again soon, and on more pleasant terms."

"I'd like that, Daniel." She watched as he left the tent and disappeared into the main of the encampment, leaving her to resume her normal routine.


	2. A Nervous Father-to-Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Clara being pregnant with Lena and Johan being nervous but loving ? Fluff ?
> 
> Originally posted: 18 April 2015
> 
> Notes: contains mention of Johan's previous marriage and the heartache involved

It was not long after the Marchioness's creation as Doctor that she started to notice an interesting change in her husband's behavior towards her.

Well, it was not as if he had never been affectionate—she wouldn't be showing child if that were the case—but it was little things here and there that was beginning to catch her attention. He near always seemed to be at her side, guiding and escorting her across the castle grounds. Walks amongst the gardens, which were so pretty as the first early Spring bulbs began to fill in, were no longer an individual affair, but time they spent together. Their arms would remain linked as they managed staircases, with her protectively between him and the railing, and he even fussed over her flyaway hairs when they were in front of _people_.

Touching hands and linking arms and kissing knuckles was normally the height of public affection the Marquis afforded his wife, but now… now it was child's play. In the midst of discussing a new national policy with a serdar (one that they were not going to tightly enforce, as it was mainly mandated in regards to the southeastern countryside and not the northern hinterlands), he bent down and kissed her cheek. The Marchioness blushed furiously, unable to process the action that normally only happened in private. Fortunately, the serdar acted as if nothing happened and continued on with the contrast of various countrysides he had traveled throughout the kingdom.

"I am glad that you both agree, Doctor," the serdar nodded. "The lenience His Highness gives you when it comes to his mandates is not misused. Will you make an announcement during court today or keep the information quiet?"

"Quiet is better for this one, I believe," the Marquis said. He glanced down at the Marchioness and patted her hand, the one that had frozen on his elbow. "Do you agree, my dear?"

"…huh? I'm sorry, what was that?" she asked, shaking the daze from her head. "My mind was elsewhere—I apologize."

"We are going to keep our opinion on the king's new mandate on the quiet side, correct?" he repeated.

"Oh, yes, it's near always wiser to not openly oppose His Highness's laws," she agreed. "It's important to pick your battles when it comes to him; it helps to stay on his good side."

"A wise decision, as always," the serdar said. He politely motioned towards the governance chair, bowing slightly. "I believe it is nearly time for court to begin.

"That it is, thank you," the Marquis replied. He turned and began to walk with his wife towards the dais their seat was. "Are you alright, Clara? You're not usually this distracted when we're preparing for court. Do I need to call the physician?"

"No, I am fine," she said. "It's just… you surprised me, is all. Is this going to become a common occurrence?"

"Will what become a common occurrence?"

"Being affectionate in front of others on a regular basis." The Marchioness rolled her eyes up at her husband as he courteously sat her down on the wide governance chair. "Have we finally worked our way to that, or should I not get used to it?"

"I'm… I'm unsure," he admitted, the tips of his ears tinging red. "Right now though, you are doing me a greater service than usual, and I want it known I appreciate it." He sat down close to her, gently wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his hand on her hip. Bringing his voice down to a murmur, he leaned down slightly so only she could hear. "I don't want to leave you for even a moment—if these are our last months together, I want it to be very clear that you have not been taken for granted, not for one moment."

"Johan, I'm with child, not dying," she said, heavy-hearted in her exhale. "I understand things have not been easy on you thanks to Lady Melody's memory, but you will worry yourself into the earth if you continue on this path."

"I can try, but I will only be able to breathe safely when I can hold my moon in one arm and my stars in another," the Marquis frowned sadly. "You have my apologies, truly, but I cannot fight my instincts."

"Try _harder_ ," the Marchioness insisted. She settled into his side and sighed. "I almost dread having a daughter. Promise me you won't sequester a daughter if we have one?"

"Never; all our children will be amongst the greatest Gallifrey, Kasterborous, and the entire kingdom have ever known, no matter if they go to the schoolroom in skirts or breeches." He looked out over the hall and put on his lord's mask. "Even if we only have one daughter and no sons, that daughter will be fire and ice, lace and steel, courtly and terrifying. She only needs to be birthed with safety to both her and her mother."

"Then I hold you to that, and in the meantime…" The Marchioness scooted forward in the chair and made to stand and call court to session. "Relax, Johan. It bodes ill when the father is more worried than the mother."

"I shall try."


	3. Playing Matchmaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: annexmachina
> 
> Prompt: Johan and Clara (mostly Clara) playing matchmaker with Danny and Martha (or anything Danny/Martha, your choice C: ).
> 
> Originally posted: 18 April 2015
> 
> Notes: 1427 words; takes place about a year after they've had their first official date, making it about three years since the previous Danny/Martha prompt, give or take (Sterling does not yet exist); still not in normal IWoAH/SASBB voice because Daniel and Martha have much more humble origins, I've decided

Martha had not even been home for five minutes before there was a knock on her front door. Abandoning her groceries, she opened the door only to find a courier from the castle standing there awkwardly.

“Message for you, ma’am,” the courier explained with a bow. She held out the parchment sealed with wax and stood patiently in the doorway. “I have instructions to await a reply.”

“Oh, then in that case, please come in,” Martha said. She let the courier in and offered her some water and a seat, apologizing for the basket that still sat upon the table half-packed. The physician broke the wax seal and read the contents, unsurprised by the sender though intrigued by the message.

‘ _Martha_ ,

‘ _There is a dinner party Clara roped me into and these things always go better when you bring who you want to talk with instead of risking being paired with whomever. It’s tomorrow night, at seven o’clock. Clara says she’ll loan you a dress as an apology if you can make it early enough, and since it runs late you can stay either at the castle or back at my cottage. If you already have plans, I understand, but please let me know._

‘ _Yours_ ,

‘ _Daniel_ ’

Chuckling quietly, she found a clean sheet of parchment and quickly wrote out a reply.

‘ _Daniel_ ,

‘ _I’d love to, although the castle is a bit grand for my taste. Be there at four._

‘ _Martha_.’

“Here, go ahead and take this back,” she instructed the courier. “The reply isn’t sensitive enough for a seal.”

“Understood, ma’am. Have a good day.”

After bidding the courier goodbye, Martha resumed packing away her groceries from earlier. It would be good to get out of her house while on leave, letting her spare décor and various medical tomes to be dusted off another day. If anything, she would be helping out a good friend, even if it was going to go against her comfort zones. It was just a good thing that she did not make it a habit of sharing the details of her personal life with the other soldiers, or they’d never believe her.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Oh, you look absolutely wonderful,” Clara gasped, clapping her hands together excitedly as Martha came out from behind the dressing screen. She had sent Johan away to keep their daughters occupied somewhere out on the grounds while she made sure their guest had a dress fit for the night’s occasion. Martha turned in front of the full-length mirror and examined the full-length ballgown that seemed to fit perfectly. Her hair was already done up in an elegant bun and the slightest bit of blush had been applied to her face.

“I’m not all that sure if gold is my color, milady,” she said hesitantly. She was beginning to rethink agreeing to attending just based on what she was wearing alone. The dress was exquisite, with embroidery on the bodice and sleeves made of lace. “My family is not poor by any means, but this is way beyond the sort of thing I’m used to wearing. Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Of course it is, I _insist_!” Clara responded. “This brings out the natural radiance in your complexion—Daniel will barely be able to keep his eyes off you.”

“As long as it’s only him and no one else,” Martha grumbled. She paused, wrinkling her nose. “I’m not going to have to sit next to some skeevy old man, am I?” She then coughed, clearing her throat in embarrassment. “I mean, who else will be at the dinner party, milady?”

“Okay, first off: it’s _Clara_ ,” she said firmly. “I want us to be friends and it is always best that there are no liege ladies amongst friends. Second: I didn’t invite too many people, so I imagine it would be tolerable for near anyone. You won’t be leered at or mocked if you accidentally pick up the wrong fork, if that’s what you’re fearing.”

“I know I work from the outside in for utensils and from near to far with crystal,” Martha deadpanned. “Mum had a great-aunt who was a baronet’s daughter, so I’ve always known high manners.”

“That’s good to know, though even marchionesses forget what glass they’re on in the middle of courses if they skip a wine or two,” Clara chuckled, giving Martha a knowing wink. The clock in the corner of the room chimed and the hostess gasped. “Oh! We’re almost late! Get in your shoes, quick!”

After jamming their heeled shoes on, the two women made their way through the castle corridors to where Johan and Daniel were waiting outside the lounge, with Lena, Astra, and Tara giggling about underfoot.

“Oh, hello Miss Martha!” Lena grinned as soon as she saw them. The six-year-old and her sisters ran up to her excitedly. “We’re glad to see you again!”

“And I’m glad to see you girls too,” Martha smiled kindly. She gave each of the children a hug and glanced over at her escort, who could only be described as unexpectedly besotted. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Oh, uh, thank you for coming,” Daniel said, taking her hand in his and leaving a kiss on her cheek. “You look wonderful.”

“It’s all thanks to Clara,” Martha replied in an attempt to downplay her appearance. He was dressed just as finely, though it was apparent that his jacket had not been borrowed from another’s wardrobe. “Good evening mil—uh—Johan…?”

“Good evening Martha,” Johan said politely. He was about to continue when his cape was tugged at, refocusing his attention more towards the floor. “What is it, starlet?”

“Oh no. I do not feel good,” Lena announced, her voice flat and practiced. “I think I am sick. What do you think Papa?” The Marquis picked her up and felt her forehead.

“We have to get you in bed,” he tutted. “Come, starlets. Let’s get your sister to the nursery.”

“Okay!” the twins chimed in happily. The girls both waved as they went down the corridor towards the stairs, hiding under their father’s cape as they went.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to make sure that Lena’s alright,” Clara frowned. “Please, make my apologies—I’ll try to make it if I can.”

“This is the sort of thing that most people would use to prove that you need a governess for the girls, you know that, right?” Daniel chuckled.

“I know, I know; just go on through to the dining room,” Clara said before rushing off in the direction her family had disappeared in. Martha and Daniel both looked at one another, not buying the act.

“Clearly they’re making us host and hostess,” Daniel groaned. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to get you mixed up in whatever harebrained scheme Clara cooked up.”

“At least she didn’t want you to enter the dragon’s den alone,” Martha shrugged as she wrapped her arm around his. “Come on, I’m starved and we’ve got a party to host. Now where’s the dining room?”

“This way.” They walked through the hall and found the formal dining hall. When they walked in, they found that it was not filled with people as had been expected, but the large oval table had been replaced with a small circular one, set for two. The butler, who had been waiting for them in the room, bowed and pulled out one of the chairs.

“If milady would have a seat,” he requested. Martha gaped at the scene, while Daniel had enough of his wits about him to answer.

“We were invited to a dinner party by the Marquis and Marchioness,” he sputtered. “Where are the other guests?”

“You _are_ the dinner party, milord,” the butler explained. “Her Ladyship the Marchioness arranged it, knowing that you often eat plain and without frills. She wanted to give the two of you a more _special_ evening.”

“I should have known…” Daniel sighed in defeat. He looked at Martha apologetically, unsure how to convey that he had been as in the dark as she had been. “Look, I…”

“Wow… you really do have someone looking out for you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Martha perched up on her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Now let’s not keep the cook waiting.”

“O-okay,” he blushed. Daniel escorted Martha over to her chair and sat down himself—he was going to have to scold Clara later for planning such a thing without his knowledge but for now, it was probably better that they just enjoy it.

 


	4. Story Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: DominusTempori
> 
> Prompt: "Story time before bed" with Johan and/or Clara, and, as many of the kids at whatever ages as you see fit?
> 
> Originally posted: 26 April 2015
> 
> Notes: 1188 words; takes place not too long after the twins move out of the nursery; Johan is sixty-three, Clara forty-four, Sterling seven, and Maglina five, while Seren is still incubating

"Papa, can you please read us a story?" Maglina asked, her green eyes going wide as she pleaded. "Please? Please, please, _please_ …?" She bounced up to her father as he came in the nursery to make sure she was in bed, mimicking the stuffed bunny she had in her arms. "Can you please read us something? Something new?"

"Maggie, Papa has read us _everything_ ," Sterling noted as he climbed into his bed. He slid underneath the blankets and smoothed out the bedspread before settling down. "He can't read us something new unless we get a new book."

"Oh… I want a _new story_ ," Maglina pouted. She didn't seem to notice that she had been scooped up and placed atop her bed by the chuckling Marquis.

"Your brother's correct: I can't read you a new story," he said, "but what I can do is _tell_ you a story. A _true_ story."

The little girl gasped in surprise. "Oh, that sounds like fun! How about it Sterling?"

"Okay, I guess," Sterling shrugged. Maglina squealed in delight and catapulted off her bed, scuttling over to the other side of the room and flung herself into her brother's bed, joining him under the covers.

"This way we can hear it together!" she grinned. Sterling gave up, having woken with his sister clung to him, despite having gone to bed alone, too many times to properly protest anymore. The Marquis sat down on the edge of the mattress and waited for the kids to quiet down.

"Once upon a time…" the Marquis began, only to be cut off by his daughter shoving her stuffed bunny in his face.

"Malcolm needs kisses before he can sleep, Papa," she insisted.

"Kisses come after the story," he insisted, gently pushing the grey bunny down to her chest. "Now, once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a fair and noble maiden who was the pride of her father's country. Not only was she beautiful, but she was quick-witted and strong. She was his only child, and because of that he trained her to rule his lands at his passing."

"…like Lena?" Sterling asked. The Marquis nodded.

"Yes, she was heiress to the kingdom like your sister is heiress to the marquisate. Now, this maiden was courting a kind, fair, and handsome man. They were very happy, and one day planned to wed and rule her father's kingdom together."

"…but what happened?" Maglina wondered. "Something always happens!"

"That it did—a mean, old ogre laid siege the kingdom, demanding the king's most precious treasure in exchange for leaving the kingdom be. The poor old king tried offering the ogre gold and jewels and rare paintings, but the ogre wanted nothing of the sort." The Marquis paused the story, watching the horror spread across his children's faces. "He wanted, instead, the maiden princess for his bride."

Sterling's eyes went wide and his eyebrows shot up into his forehead, while Maglina gasped. "What did the king do?!" she asked.

"He protested, but his daughter consented," her father explained. "Her duty from the day she was born was to the kingdom, and if that meant giving it up in order to keep it safe, then she was prepared to do so. The ogre and the princess were wed the very next day, with all of court in attendance.

"Except, when it was time for them to share a bed for the first time, the ogre did something that surprised his new wife: he slept away from her, not touching her at all. She remained a maiden, which is most unusual for a bride. The next day she was whisked away to the ogre's castle high in the mountains, to be his queen at his side."

"Is that where they laid together?" Sterling pondered. "Queens aren't queens unless they lay with their husband, right?"

"No one knew that she hadn't laid with the ogre, so nobody was the wiser," the Marquis said. He sighed, accepting that his young children had a vague understanding of how a marriage was created. "The ogre showed his maiden bride how to run his lands so that she could in his absence, and that he would have no problem once it was his time to return to the earth. _'Let the human lord find a new heir,'_ he said. _'I have the best the lands can offer.'_ " He made his voice low and rumbly for the ogre's voice, causing the children to giggle.

"What happened then?" Maglina yawned.

"Well, time passed, and the king adopted the kind man his daughter had been courting, making him his heir," the Marquis said, pulling the blankets closer to the children. "The first thing the new prince did with his newfound position was to ride off towards the ogre's castle to make sure his beloved was alive and safe. He rode as fast as his horse could travel, arriving at the gate just as the sun was setting. The prince was met at the gate by the ogre, who seemed frail and weak instead of the grand intimidator he was only a few years prior."

"What did he say?" Sterling asked. "The ogre."

The Marquis nodded, a slight smile twisting his lips. "He welcomed the prince with open arms, offering him food and shelter for the night. The ogre reunited the prince and the princess, offering his wife her freedom. She could return to her father's kingdom if she wished, and the ogre's lands would revert to her upon his death."

"Did she leave?" Maglina murmured, nearly asleep.

"No, starlet. She kissed her former love on the brow and said she was where she belonged. The ogre had treated her with much respect and admiration, and as kind and loving as her prince had been, her husband was the one she fell in love with. As she declared her feelings, a bright light enveloped the ogre, melting away his warts and skin, leaving a handsome lord in his place."

"Had he been cursed?" Sterling asked as he too closed his eyes.

"Yes," his father affirmed. "He thought he would die an ogre, without love and happiness, but with the unexpected affection he received from his wife, he changed back to his human form. The lord and lady ruled their lands for many years afterwards, and ended up with many children as well. The prince eventually found another to marry, and they were always welcome at one another's table for as long as they lived."

Waving his hand in front of his children's faces, he confirmed that they were completely asleep. After giving a kiss each on the brows of son, daughter, and bunny, he snuffed the lamplight out and drew the curtains before retreating beyond the door to where his wife was waiting for him. She was sitting up in bed, large with child and reading quietly to herself.

"What took you so long?" she smirked as her husband readied for bed. "I was about to send a search party."

"Just telling the children a bedtime story," he explained. "I think they enjoyed it."

"Now that's good."


	5. The Serdaressa's Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: sparksearcher
> 
> Prompt: Can you please do something cute and date-like for Johan and Clara sometime between when they consummate their marriage and when Clara realizes she's pregnant?
> 
> Originally posted: 26 May 2015
> 
> Notes: 1127 words; contains more bits of backstory for both Johan and Clara

The Marchioness smoothed out her skirt and looked at herself in the mirror. The spun cotton dress was plain and simple, with the fastening strings up the front of the bodice and not even as much as a single petticoat underneath. She had to find a spare slip to wear with it, which seemed odd, and even borrowed a spare pair of flat slip-on shoes from one of the chambermaids.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked incredulously. The Marquis, who was combing through his hair in the mirror on the vanity, shrugged.

“I did it often enough when I was younger, so why not now?” he said. He too was in common clothes—breeches and a jacket, with a shirt of undyed cloth. 

“Of course everyone in the castle will recognize us, and there will be some outside, but once we get far enough away we’ll just be another couple.”

“If you insist…” she muttered. Once they were both dressed, they pressed their lips together in a light kiss before heading out into the main of the castle. The two made their way down to the stables, where their horses were waiting for them, saddled and packed, and they calmly rode through the castle gate and into the streets of Gallifrey.

As the Marquis had predicted, barely a person noticed and no one made a fuss as they walked their rides through the city. Traveling incognito was nothing new to the Marchioness, as she had done so many times before with her late mother and grandmother, yet never with her father. He had never forbid them to go, but he was always hesitant to join in, saying that “a ruler and his people should be close, but if they become too close accidents begin to happen”. David Oswald, Viscount Blackpoole, truly did love and trust the people whose welfare depended on him, but too many tales of ambushed nobles had reached his ears for him to be confident with turning his public face into one with the public. Now the Marchioness and her husband were the faces of the marquisate, both of whom traveled all across the land in an attempt to rule as even-handedly as possible, and they were able to blend in thanks to barely any effort at all.

“See? That wasn’t so bad,” he chuckled as they began their ride away from the city’s outer gate. “We don’t have anything to fear.”

“It wasn’t that I _feared_ something, but that I doubted it would work at all,” she clarified. They were riding past farmland now, the ground underneath them slowly molding itself into rolling hills. “So tell me, where is it that we’re going?”

“You’ll see,” he replied.

It took most of the morning, but eventually farmland was replaced by forest and the Marquis directed his wife off the road and into the trees. The bare semblance of a path guided them as they went, the way more suited for deer and young aurochsen, until the pair finally reached a glen at the bottom of a cliff. A spring bubbled out of the rock, the water collecting into a small pond. Birds sang amongst the branches and the chittering of other creatures filled the air. The Marquis dismounted his horse and helped the Marchioness down from hers, grinning from ear to ear.

“This place is beautiful,” she marveled. “It’s so peaceful and secluded—it’s actually _quiet_.”

“Do you like it…?” he asked hesitantly. She twirled around to take in the entire glen and giggled.

“Of course; it’s just… how did you know of this place?” The Marchioness sat down on a boulder next to the pond and slipped her shoes off, placing her feet in the cool water. “This doesn’t exactly look like the kind of area marquises and earls are often found.”

“It was a secret between my mama and Serdaressa Pond,” the Marquis explained while he unpacked the horses’ bags. Inside was a blanket and a humble lunch of cold sandwiches and fruits, all of which he laid out on the grass. “Lady Amelia brought me here years ago, shortly after we became the last two in the castle.  Since then I’ve tried to come here at least once a year… though as of late it’s become rather difficult.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not sure—apathy, I guess.” He brought out a pitcher from one of the saddlebags and filled it with water trickling from the rock. “I did promise my mother-in-law many things though, and one of them was to share this place with my new wife.”

“Sounds like she was a good woman,” the Marchioness said. She joined her husband and sat down on the blanket, plucking a grape from the bunch and popping it in her mouth. “It’s a shame I couldn’t meet her either.”

“Serdaressa Pond was indeed a lovely woman, but whether or not the two of you would get along is not a question I necessarily need answered,” he said. The Marquis bent towards his wife and carefully repositioned her hair, smoothing it and clearing the tangles gained from the journey. When he was done he trailed his fingers along her face and brushed his thumb against her lower lip. “Even in a dress fit for a butcher you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” she smirked. Leaning in closer she kissed his mouth, careful not to go too quick and have him freeze up. One of his hands found her hip and the other gripped her shoulder. He parted his lips and released a timid moan as he let her tongue slip past his teeth in order to lay claim to her husband. She pushed his jacket off his torso and settled into his lap, placing her ear upon his chest to hear his quickened heartbeat, which she couldn’t help but chuckle at.

“What…?” he asked, confused at the sound of amusement coming from her. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re still so nervous, Johan,” she smiled, exhaling heavily. “You are my lord husband; there should be no reason to be this jittery.”

“Yes, but, knowing your heart belongs to someone not yourself is a rather terrifying notion, even if you know it is in the best of care.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned down to place his nose in the hair behind her ear and murmur, “I trust you, my Second Heart, and I would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Words so dramatic they can only be true,” she responded. The Marquis shifted and laid down on the blanket, guiding her along to join him. Their lunch soon lay forgotten as they enjoyed the quiet solitude, appreciating the late serdaressa’s gift.

 


	6. The Lineage (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: TheOddityWriter/Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: I would love to see Twelve talk about In Want of a Heir's iteration of the Eleventh Doctor and his companions (or any of the previous Doctors- yes, including classic Doctors like Two or Seven).
> 
> Originally posted: 13 June 2015
> 
> Notes: 1157 words; I'm cheating and not going with Eleven although, well, I've been developing his character but there's also more characters and I thoroughly enjoy screwing with stuff; takes place while Clara is pregnant with Lena

The winds howled outside as the Marquis and Marchioness lay cuddled up on the couch, pressed close to one another whilst they ignored the weather. It was intense for a winter storm and attempted to seep into the castle through every possible nook and cranny.

"Johan?" the Marchioness muttered into her husband's side. "What… what if we have a daughter?"

"What do you mean?" he wondered. He gently shifted his hand from her hip around to her stomach, where she was beginning to show. "The important thing is that we're having a child. Why would I care about whether we have a son or a daughter?"

She chewed her thumbnail as she thought of how to phrase it. "It's just, I remember back when we were first married, and when you told me I could have a paramour as long as you knew who he was. You said you merely wanted to know whose _son_ would inherit your title and lands. What if we can only have a daughter?"

"Then we have a daughter and the marquisate will be helmed by a woman after us. It almost passed to a daughter before, and I've never thought ill of it, but I _had_ just married someone whose father was going to be succeeded by her husband and not her. It makes sense to assume she'd want to have a son first so as to not have any sort of trouble." He pressed down on the curve in her stomach, feeling for their child. "I will love and dote upon this child no matter if it is a boy or girl, our eldest or our only." Pausing for a moment, he finally began to process the real meaning behind the question. "Are you worried the people wouldn't accept a sole woman ruler?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, embarrassed. "I mean, I've read that the Seventh Marquis nearly passed his title down to a daughter, but her uncles ruled instead. The books aren't very clear on why and the way in which everything is glossed over makes things… worrisome."

"Ah, I see," the Marquis nodded. He shifted on the couch so that he sat up with his legs still reclined and his wife still in his lap. "Lady Dorothea _should_ have inherited and _would_ have no matter what, with her uncles being her heirs instead of ruling in her stead, but something tells me the books you read were not contemporary accounts of the time."

"Would that have made a difference?"

"It would have." He paused before going on. "What do you know about the Great Dalek War?"

"It claimed many lives, and the only Marquis to not carry the title of Doctor came out the victor," the Marchioness replied. "Why is there so little written about the Great Dalek War?"

"Much was lost then, lives and knowledge both," her husband murmured. "I know this because of oral history passed down, with an oath to not have it published as common knowledge until a set amount of time has passed, but the Great Dalek War was the ultimate shame that my great-great-grandfather found himself burdened with."

"I still don't understand that—it wasn't his fault, was it?"

"He felt it was," the Marquis explained. "You see, the Sixth Doctor had three sons. His eldest succeeded him as the Seventh Doctor, with his only child and heir being a daughter, Lady Dorothea. Her uncles were glad for her, because it meant that they could do whatever it was they wanted with their lives. She was primed to rule, and was even one of the main developers of weapons that were used against the Daleki Empire in the War, but it wasn't meant to be."

"…because she died."

"Yes, though not because of anything within Kasterborsian control. Her youngest uncle, my great-great-grandfather, was in the military, and was one of the best commanders our troops had ever seen. Under him the border was tighter than it had ever been and peace was flourishing, until a Daleki spy crept through while his eldest brother and niece were visiting the front. Without being prepared in the slightest, the Seventh Marquis and Lady Dorothea were killed quickly and the whole march was thrown into a panic.

"The Eighth Marquis came to sit on the governance chair soon after, amongst whispers of assassinations and coups. He was a man that flourished with peace, better made for socializing and matters involving state and law. While still a strong person in his own way, the war still ravaged him. A few years passed and he met his end on the battlefield—then it was my great-great-grandfather's turn."

The Marchioness pressed the side of her head into her husband's chest and quietly asked, "If the Eighth Marquis came to power under rumors, what was it like for the Ninth?"

" _Hell_ ," he said. "He never wanted power, because it constricted him. The war cost him both his brothers and niece at this point, along with so many friends that he could barely cope. It was why he never accepted the local title and abdicated after all the hard, rough years of the war were over, after he lost his daughter-in-law to the fighting and he and his son both contracted battle-sickness."

"Who was she?" she asked.

"I… I don't know," he replied sadly. "My great-grandmother was a solider like her husband was, and my grandfather and his twin were nearly born in the battlefield. It's why we don't allow women who are showing child along the front lines anymore. No one would deny their marchioness, but she was a common soldier at the time. Now she, along with so many others, are lost."

"Your grandpapa never knew his mother's name?"

"No; he and his brother were weaned on nurses and raised by governesses, and neither his father nor grandfather talked of those days. They were warriors wounded in ways no one could see, and that affects the marquisate to this day."

"It's a shame that Lady Dorothea being unable to rule meant so much pain and suffering for her family," the Marchioness sighed. She breathed deeply, her husband's scent filling her nose. "No one protested her rule before then?"

"Some that claimed themselves 'traditionalists', but no one with any real sway was ready to argue when the march was one of the most secure places in the kingdom. Even if we do have a daughter, those that protest will be silenced by her overwhelming competence and skill. Our child _will_ be groomed for the governance chair, as all the eldest children before them, and our line will survive beyond either of us."

"I'm glad," she replied happily. "And to think you thought your family's days were done here."

"A good thing to have proven wrong, considering the circumstances." The Marquis kissed his wife's hair and closed his eyes as he leaned against the backrest, content despite the storm raging against the windowpanes.


	7. The Marquis's Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: randomthunk
> 
> Prompt: Johan right after realizing he kinda maybe has the hots for his wife but before confessing so he is stewing in his tsundereness.
> 
> Originally posted: 26 July 2015
> 
> Notes: 1397 words; takes place in the final section of chapter two of In Want of An Heir; contains descriptions and a concept that the main story is going to get in a future chapter, but this prompt beat it to the punch; contains mention of both Johan/Melody and Daniel/Clara

The Marquis entered his bedchamber in a panic. His lunch sat at the table by the window—he always took lunch alone after a morning at court, to decompress—yet he was too nervous to eat. After poking his head into his wife's chambers to make sure she was not there, he locked the door that joined their rooms and began pacing.

"I can't do this," he said aloud. "She is not mine to have. My time is done… it's _been_ done. I was to wait until the people were accustomed to her, when her role was second nature… no, no, no…" He threw himself down on his bed, face-first and groaning in agony. The thought of the Marchioness giving that villager a command earlier made the tightness in the front of his trousers even worse and he groaned in frustration. He thought of the morning court session to try to get his mind off of her. Many issues _had_ arisen, from the missing tax collector to a problem with the large white shan leopards coming down from the mountains and eating farmers' flocks. There was going to have to be a search party for the former, an investigation into a possible cull on the latter, and other sorts of not-pleasant things. His wife could handle it though. She could handle it beautifully…

No. The Marquis pushed himself up and off the bed. He went over to his writing desk and opened one of the compartments. There, right where he had left it, was a small portrait of a young woman. She had bright red hair that fell past her shoulders and out of the frame. The artist had taken great care to be true to the paleness of her skin and the freckles that dotted her cheeks, her straight nose, and eyes of green and amber that smiled out at him. He placed it on the desk surface and sat down, almost reverent in his manners.

"I don't know what to do, Melody," he told the portrait, voice thin and wary. "Clara, she… she proved today that she is ready to helm the marquisate by herself and become the march's sovereign ruler, second only to the king. I should be readying to name her my successor for if I die on the battlefield without issue, yet today… today I _wanted_ her." He rested his elbows on the desk and palmed his eyes in frustration. "Her future was never supposed to be me, not in Kasterborous nor a marriage. She needs a man that doesn't look nearly twice his age. Someone like her soldier paramour would do better at her side than me. I shouldn't _lust_ or _desire_ —I'm too old for it."

Melody did not answer back, staying silently supportive. Her aged widow stared at her, eyes stinging at the edges, and exhaled heavily. "I promised you that I would stay alive as long as the march needed me before allowing the earth to consume my body in order to join you and our child. Your hand was cold and the babe had not cried in hours, but up until now I have not gone back on my word." He paused, allowing his voice to grow quiet. "We were so young that I didn't know who I was without you. I barely knew a whole week without your presence, let alone an entire day, and the fact of the matter was that it felt like part of me died that night. Part of me died, but suddenly it feels alive again, and I'm not sure what that means."

Minutes passed, with birds chirping on the sill and the sound of servants rushing about to do their chores in the corridor. The Marquis went over to the table by the window and forced himself to drink some water and eat a bit of fruit despite his stomach not wanting any of it. He then returned to the desk and picked up the portrait, examining it in the early afternoon light.

"How are they?" he asked solemnly. "They'd be a year younger than Clara… did you know that? Did we have a daughter as fair and mischievous as her mama? Maybe we had a son, better suited to wed Lady Oswald than his papa could ever deserve to be. I know I was told, but I was too distraught to take in much of anything the physician and midwife said… you know that."

He then chuckled, low and sad. "Part of what scares me right now, more than anything, is how _hard_ you and I worked to make _us_ work. We were only children when we learned of our betrothal, and our early teens were rough. Thank the stars love blossomed well before we met on the wedding platform, but my want of Clara… I never tended it, never sowed, never nurtured. It just happened and I only realized it today. How long have I wanted her? What did she do to plant those seeds in my hearts? I didn't know love could happen this way and it's _terrifying_."

An epiphany then struck him, causing his eyes to go wide and jaw grow slack. He looked at the portrait in wonder, murmuring, "She is my second chance. Not everyone gets a second chance, but now I have one in her. You've always told me to be happy, but is this really how…?" Glancing over at the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, he saw his reflection and cringed. "Can I really have a second chance with a face so well-frowned? Do I even know the man who did the frowning? I don't even know if I do or not…"

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on the door, making the Marquis jump. He placed the portrait face-down and walked over to the door to the Marchioness's chamber. Opening it, he found his wife there, confused and frustrated.

"Johan, I've been looking for you. Did you lock this door?" she asked.

"It must have been a maid or one of the footmen; I'm sure it was an accident," he said nervously. "What did you want?" The Marchioness frowned at him, that frown that said she disapproved and was concerned all at once. "What…?"

"Are you alright?" she wondered. "You look like you've been crying."

"Stubbed my toe," he lied quickly. "What did you need? Is everything alright?" He watched as the expression on her face went from the confusing mixture of emotions to something more uniformly resolute.

"There's a lead on the missing tax collector that just came in and since no one saw you go into your quarters, I was searching for you everywhere. Doesn't matter though; hurry up and finish your lunch! We have to get back down to the governance hall quickly!"

"I'll be there momentarily," the Marquis replied. He gently closed the door between them and walked back over to his desk. Taking hold of the portrait, he carried it across the room and touched a spot on the wall. It opened up to reveal a hiding place, where he gently placed the picture amongst an assortment of things: a few dried flowers, his and Melody's wedding bands, a kerchief fringed with lace, and a crystal bottle with the last of her favorite scent. For anyone else, it would have been considered a shrine, but for him, it was more like a tomb.

After closing the compartment, the Marquis spoke in the ceremonial tongue, leaving his hand on the hidden compartment. The edges of the door hissed and glowed a soft blue, sealing itself by a command oft used in the height of Gallfirey's power, but now was little more than myth.

"I know you want me to be happy, but you have to understand," he spoke to the wall. "I will retrieve you, one day, when we are both white-haired and only talk of the past. Until then, I cannot move forward. I will enter the earth at your side—that promise I will not break—but on the other side of my grave…"

The Marquis bit his lip, unable to continue. He took his hand off the wall and walked briskly out of his bedchamber. There was an entire march to govern, and his living wife to love, and now he had to figure out how to juggle both at once.


	8. Malcolm the Bunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: DominusTempori
> 
> Prompt: Your choice on this one: the origin story of either Maglina's Malcolm the Bunny from "Stars" or Davey's stuffed owl toy from "Time."
> 
> Originally posted: 2 August 2015
> 
> Notes: 1680 words; started off small, but ran away from me, as things sometimes do; rough ages of those present are Johan at 61, Clara at 42, Lena at 11, Astra/Tara at 9, Sterling at 5, and Maglina/Oriana at 3

The summer breeze was light and cool as it rippled the grass on the castle grounds. Sitting on a blanket underneath a tree, the Marquis and Marchioness snuggled together as they watched their son and youngest daughter frolic about in the sunshine nearby. The children were tumbling around, attempting to play tag.

"This is so nice," the Marchioness sighed. She took her husband's hand in hers and kissed his palm before holding it over her hip. "Afternoons like this make all the frustration of court and governance worth it."

"Financial, cultural, political, and internal security for the march is not worth it?" he chuckled, nuzzling his whiskers on the skin behind her ear.

"I'm talking on a personal level and you know it," she retorted. She enjoyed the attention the Marquis was giving her until Sterling bounced up, after which she gently pushed him away. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Mama, Maggie fell down and she won't get up," he said, pointing back at his sister. "She says she's a worm now." The Marchioness glanced around her son to see Maglina lying face-down on the lawn, passively wriggling.

"Tell her I want to see her," she said. Sterling spun on his heel and ran back towards his little sister.

"What are you going to do?" the Marquis wondered. His wife hushed him as she watched their children, putting a finger to his lips. They observed as Sterling squatted down to talk to Maglina, while she went and began her journey over to the blanket under the tree by rolling the entire way there.

"I'm here, Mama!" she announced.

" _Maglina Diantha_ , look at your dress," the Marchioness scolded. The little girl sat up, greenish-brown swaths of gunk covering her. It was not a very fancy or delicate dress, definitely one that was made to withstand rough play, but it still irritated the mother. "You are going to have to personally apologize to the maids for making them scrub the grass out of that. It's very tough to get those spots out of dresses."

"I'm sorry, Mama," Maglina frowned.

"It's not me you have to apologize to, but Miss Addy and Miss Brooke," she replied. The Marchioness then took her youngest in her arms and set her down on her lap. "Now, what's this I hear about you being a worm?"

"Oh, I was just playing pretend," Maglina answered. "I like playing pretend. Sometimes Ori and I pretend we're bunnies, and we hop around, like this!" She scrambled to her feet and bounced around, shouting "hop, hop, hop" as she did so.

"Maybe you should try being a bunny more often, since that doesn't ruin your dress as quickly," the Marchioness snickered.

"Do you and Oriana see many bunnies on the castle grounds?" the Marquis asked, wanting at least some part in the conversation.

"Uh-huh! There's two that we really like: Harriet and Truda," Maglina said, still hopping about. "Harriet's fur is brown like my hair and Truda's fur is black like Ori's hair! They're best friends, like us!"

"Good, good," he nodded. The Marquis then pointed in the direction of the tutor's cottage, where Oriana was running across the lawn to meet them. "Look at who's there, just in time too."

"Ori!" Maglina squealed. She dashed over to meet her friend, with Sterling following close behind. The game of tag resumed now that there was an extra participant and the adults were left to themselves.

"Let's get her a rabbit," the Marquis suggested. "Catch one off the grounds and have one of the groundskeepers build a nice large hutch to keep it in—she'll love it."

"No! Rabbits are pets for children more the twins' age, maybe Lena's, not for a _three-year-old_ ," the Marchioness retorted. "Why would you think that getting her a delicate pet that can easily run off and break her heart is a good idea, Johan?"

"Maglina is most likely to remain the youngest of our children and she needs to know how to take care of other beings smaller than herself since she won't have a younger sibling to look after," he defended. He squeezed his arm around his wife's waist, kissing her temple softly. "She's a sweet and caring girl, and I'd like to foster that if we can."

"Getting her a pet this young is dangerous though," she said, shaking her head sadly. "None of the other kids had pets, aside from the castle mousers and the guards' hounds, and getting her something would make the others jealous."

"They would understand…"

"Not necessarily," the Marchioness warned gently. She rested her head against her husband's shoulder and watched the three children scurry around in a fit of giggles. "The older three might, but I can't guarantee it, and even though Sterling tries to be responsible for both Maglina and Oriana, I doubt he'd see it favorably."

"That is true," the Marquis groaned. He leaned his head back and let it rest against the tree trunk. As he did, an idea came to mind, making him grin. He dropped the subject entirely, instead focusing on light touches and ghosting kisses that made his wife hunger for their bed and skirt the limits of how indecent they could be both in public and in front of the children.

* * *

The following day, the Marquis was becoming fidgety as the time to adjourn court for lunch was drawing near. He and his wife sat in their wide double-seat, with Lena perched in the former governance chair to their right. It had been a dull day, though a necessary one, and he was glad it was nearly over. He was nearly nodding off in the warm room, sunlight streaming down upon him from a high window and his head propped up on his palm, elbow resting on the arm of the chair.

"Milord and miladies, it is time to close court for the morning," the crier suggested, jolting the Marquis awake. He gave his daughter a glance and the girl stood up.

"Court is now closed for the day," she announced, voice carrying well throughout the hall. "The Marquis and Marchioness Kasterborous will tend to the remainder of your needs tomorrow morning; please be patient and understanding."

"That's my little earlessa," the Marquis grinned. He stood up and patted Lena on the shoulder, beaming with pride. "You are starting to sound much more comfortable with opening and closing court than you were before."

"Thanks, Papa," she replied happily. "It gets easier each time, like you said."

"That's good," the Marchioness chuckled. The three of them stepped off the dais and began to make their way through the corridors towards where lunch was waiting on them. "Do you think by the time you're an adult you can hold court by yourself? It's seven years away."

"I think so," she said. "Being Earlessa of Gallifrey isn't easy, but if I work hard, then I might be able to handle holding court by myself in _five_ years."

"Skill-wise, yes; _legally_ , no," the Marquis laughed. They found the dining room and the remaining children already there, squirming impatiently for the latecomers. As soon as it was clear that Mama, Papa, and Lena were there, they began eating.

"Kids, _chew your food_ or you're going to choke," the Marchioness sighed, too exhausted from the petty squabbles of lesser lords and gentlemen to want to seem too intimidating to her brood. The children all had fried cheese sandwiches and fruit, with a large glass of milk each. She and her husband had a more civilized meal of chicken-on-veg-and-greens, though the longer she sat there, the more the butter off the sandwiches smelled delicious.

Once done inhaling their food, the youngest two siblings grew fidgety again. "Mama?" Maglina asked. "Can Sterling and I be excused? We wanna go play with Ori before we have to go back to the schoolroom."

"I don't see why n—"

"Just a moment, Starlet," the Marquis said. He crooked his finger and his youngest slid off her chair to pad over to his side. "Were you a good girl and apologized to Misses Addy and Brooke for staining your dress?"

"Uh-huh!" she nodded, exaggerating the motion. "Miss Addy told me to be careful next time, and Miss Brooke said that sometimes stains happen, even when we are careful, so as long as I'm not doing it on purpose it's okay."

"Then I do believe you deserve a small reward for being so grown up and apologizing nicely." He reached into a pocket deep inside his cloak and drew out a bundle wrapped carefully in paper. Handing it to her, he watched as she opened it up and found a stuffed toy rabbit, grey in fur with a pink nose and blue beads for eyes.

"A BUNNY!" she screeched. "Thank you, Papa! Thank you!" Maglina leapt into her father's arms for a hug, unable to see the flat disapproval on her mother's face across the table, and her sibling's snickers elsewhere.

"You have to take good care of your bunny now, starlet," the Marquis mentioned. "This is your responsibility. Now… what is your bunny's name?"

The little girl held the toy's face up to her ear and shook it slightly, as if it were talking. "Oh? That's a nice name."

"What name is that?"

"Malcolm," she replied. "Come on, Sterling! Let's go bring Malcolm over to meet Ori!"

"Okay!" With that, the two youngest siblings dashed out of the room, leaving the rest of the family in silence.

"Papa, why are your ears red?" Tara finally asked, breaking the silence and allowing bits of sandwich to fly from her mouth. The blush began to spread from the Marquis's ears to his face as he kept his eyes down towards his salad.

"Never you mind," he replied. He could feel his wife's glare, knowing he only just barely skirted around her wishes and that, oh so very likely, he would be in trouble that night for sure. It was worth it to see his youngest so happy, though—that was one thing he could not deny.


	9. Battlefield Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: itsthefbiandfriends/Latonia Enelra Cain
> 
> Prompt: How about an AU where the Doc (or Malcolm) and Clara are reunited after some type of apocalyptic event and they didn't know if each other was alive or dead? More awesome if the Doctor turned into some type of soldiering man during the whole ordeal.
> 
> Originally posted: 27 September 2015
> 
> Notes: 1032 words; takes place just before Clara finds out she's pregnant with Sterling *coughcough*; contains glad-to-be-alive sex, hurt/comfort overtones, and battle/field descriptions

It was only supposed to be a quick stop while on their way back from a conference in Braxos; since they were both already out, it made sense to go and make the extra journey a few days longer instead of turning around as soon as they returned home. The Marquis and Marchioness reveled in the freedom all three of their children being of schooling age gave them, which made them careless above all else.

It was the Cyberans that attacked, raiding the camp without warning. The Kasterborsian army was under fire for hours, the fight raging on until sundown. When the enemy finally retreated, the entire camp had fallen into disarray—squads and units were scattered and broken, with few knowing where their comrades had gone. It was even the same for the Marquis and Marchioness, having been separated during the skirmish.

“Where is Her Ladyship?” the Marquis asked as he stood at the border of the encampment, watching the remaining Cyberans slink back into the woodlands. Blood was dried on his face and in his whiskers, and his clothes were shred from where swords and shots tore through them. “I wish to speak with my wife now that things are safe.”

“I do not know where she is, milord,” the soldier nearest to him said. “Last I saw of her, she was fighting a Cyberan as the rest of us.”

“Then I shall fetch her myself,” he snarled. The Marquis’s patience had all been worn away by the attack and he needed to hold the moon of his sky in his arms. He began to search the camp, wandering through the wreckage and death that was now his prized troops.

As the Marquis scoured the camp, his nerves began fraying: the Marchioness was nowhere in sight. He began to run, lopsided and flailing as he searched and searched. He could not find her in the tents, with the medics, amongst those cleaning up—was he to search underneath the death veils next? Some of the bodies that were draped in cloth were small enough and it made his stomach churn to think of it.

“Johan!”

Spinning around at the sound of his name, the Marquis’s heart leapt for joy as he saw his wife standing in the mud. The skirt of her dress had been torn off at the knee and she was smeared with as much blood and dirt as he was. They rushed towards one another, coming together in a desperate hug.

“I couldn’t find you,” he breathed against her hair.

“…and I couldn’t find you,” she replied. “The girls have both their parents for a while yet.”

“Stars in the sky—don’t remind me,” he swore. The two went arm-in-arm as they returned to the strategy tent to see if there were concrete numbers of the casualties. Kasterborous lost precious lives that day, but Cybera lost more. A messenger was already on their way to Gallifrey for fresh forces to help piece things back together and to assure the earlessa’s tutor that his charges were not orphans. Things were once again under control.

Retreating to their tent, the Marquis and Marchioness slowly made to clean themselves up. He sealed the tent’s door flap with an ancient word—nothing to come in or out without their permission, not even sound. It was a spell he hated using, just as all the Ancient Gallifreyan words that held mystic properties, yet his wife holding his other hand as he did so made it so that _they_ made the spell, and it kept his mind at ease.

“I thought I had lost you,” he murmured, voice cracking. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the band he placed on her finger what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Hush,” she whispered. “Let’s get out of these soiled clothes first; we have our privacy.”

“Yes dearest.”

With the adrenaline wearing down, it took the efforts of both for one to get undressed. The Marquis went first, sore from the fight, and watched tentatively as his wife wiped his wounds clean. She pressed gentle kisses to them, leagues more sensual than if she were tending to a scrape one of their children gained in play. Once he was clean and in his nightdress, it was the Marchioness’s turn to be fawned over while her husband helped her shed her ruined clothes and apply salves to her injuries. She was bruised in awkward places, hurting worse than he; matching enemy soldiers blow-for-blow did not fall under the list of things she had ever done regularly, meaning that she was visibly shaken by the time he was done with easing her into a clean nightdress.

“Johan…” she said huskily, gazing deep into his eyes. “Did I do good? Was I a good Doctor?”

“You _are_ an excellent Doctor, no doubt in my mind,” he replied. Putting one hand on either side of her face, he let his fingertips ghost over her skin as he marveled in the fact she was still before him. “Are you well enough to put the power of the protective ward through a test?”

“I am exhausted, but I do want to celebrate we are both alive,” she admitted. Stretching herself out along the bed, she held out her arms, welcoming her husband into them. “Make me forget what I saw and did today; love me until I cannot think.”

“Anything, if that is what you wish,” he said, bowing his head reverently. He buried his nose in her hair as he built her excitement back to what it was earlier in the day. Both their aches and pains melted away as they ensured one another that they were alive, moaning loudly as they came.

It was only a mere afterthought of the Marquis’s to touch the canvas wall of the tent and utter the release word into his wife’s breast before succumbing to sleep—just as they needed to be available for their children should an emergency arise, they had to be vigilant amongst the soldiers as well. They slept soundly that night, despite the threat of a renewed attack, each one comforted by the presence of the other.

 


	10. Gallifreyan Blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: weezerthefangirl
> 
> Prompt: I'd really love more Johan and Clara from Stars in a Sky of Blood and Blue. I was thinking a chapter that follows Clara's pregnancy with Seren and how Johan spends a great deal of time talking to the baby knowing it will be his and Clara's last pregnancy/baby.
> 
> Originally posted: 24 October 2015
> 
> Notes: 1424 words; takes place during the incubation of Seren, which is when Johan is about 62/63 and Clara is 43/44; takes place between chapters nine and ten; also contains the nugget of joy that is Maglina and her stuffed bunny Malcolm; just a bunch of fluffy sap

It began how many mornings seemed to since she told her husband she was pregnant with what was very likely their final child. Instead of curled along her husband’s back, his hair cushioning her forehead and her arms held firmly in place by his, he was slid down the mattress and straddling her legs and knelt down. His hands sat gently upon her hips and his crown was touching her bared belly as he muttered things quick and low in the ceremonial tongue.

“One of these days Maglina is going to catch you, and then you’ll have to explain yourself to a child that cannot yet hold a secret,” the Marchioness chuckled. Her husband smiled against her skin, glad that she was awake.

“You hear that? Mama is finally up,” he told their unborn child. His whiskers tickled her stomach, which made her squirm slightly. “It’s so kind of Mama to allow us time together, but it is also kind of her to join us.”

“And what are the two of you up to this fine and blood-red dawn?” she asked. She played idly with the Marquis’s short curls, looking at him kindly.

“I wanted to talk with Seren—our Evening Star needs to remember that Mama and Papa won’t be able to do this ever again after the birth, so we must make sure our morning talks are essential, since our other starlets had that privilege” He straightened up and replaced her nightdress before coming back down to rest on his side, contouring along his wife’s body so that he enveloped mother and child. “This is a miracle, truly.”

“All children are miracles.”

“This is true, but this is _my child_ , our child; you know how unlikely it was that we should have one child, let alone a sixth, when we met on the wedding platform.” He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and sighed wistfully. “I am thankful for all of the miracles in my life, from our Lena, to our Seren… and none of them would be possible without the biggest miracle of them all.”

“Oh?” she giggled. “Now who would that be?” She knew the answer, though she also knew it was his pleasure to say it.

“ _You_ , my Clara, the moon in my sky,” he murmured in her ear. “I have never known a love like yours, and it is only by purest luck that I have not kept you large with child more than five occasions.”

“Four; I’m not large yet,” she reminded him. She touched her stomach, a little loose from birthing but still nowhere near showing, and he lay his hand atop hers. “I can barely imagine more children—though if that were the case we’d be at risk for another set of twins.”

“We only just manage the twins we _do_ have,” the Marquis admitted. He then frowned slightly, moving his hand so that his finger’s laced with the Marchioness’s. “It is a pity though that Seren is only one star; I wish to make our countrymen jealous by how much love my wife affords me.”

“Now, now… the Doctor can’t change what the physician diagnoses, no matter how much he wills it,” she replied. “We are going to be so _old_ when this child comes of-age… grandparents a couple times over, most likely.”

“That is where you are wrong,” he insisted. “Even when both of us have silver hair, you will still be the youthful maid, while I the decrepit ogre. Our love will be as it was when we first laid as husband and wife, and that shall keep us young forevermore.”

“Do you hear that, Seren? You papa is a romantic idiot,” the Marchioness smirked, glancing down her body. Her husband let go of her hand and shimmied back to their child, rubbing his face in the fabric of her nightdress.

“ _I hope you have a love like ours one day, Seren_ ,” he said in the ceremonial tongue. “ _I wish for a deep, passionate love for you and all your siblings, that you all find a moon for your skies, that there are as many stars as you see fit, and that one day this family is as mighty and glorious as is fit for those inheriting your mama’s blood_.”

“Papa…? What are you doing?” The Marquis and Marchioness glanced over towards the nursery door and saw Maglina standing there, bunny in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

“I am blessing your mama in the ways of Ancient Gallifrey,” the Marquis replied. He propped himself up on an elbow and allowed the five-year-old to crawl into bed next to them. “The spells are a bit complicated for you at the moment, but would you like to know how?”

“Sure,” the sleepy girl nodded. She curled up in the Marchioness’s side, causing the woman to wrap an arm around her.

“First, you bless the brain,” he said, placing two fingers to his wife’s forehead, “for the brain is where we keep our thoughts and intellect.” He then trailed his fingers down to her mouth, tempted to instead dive in for a kiss. “Next you bless the lips, for not only do they speak our opinions for all to hear, but it is also how one gains nourishment to survive.”

“What about people that can’t talk, like Captain Cass?” Maglina wondered.

“That is why you bless the hands next, for they can signal and write all that the lips cannot say,” the Marquis replied. He then moved his hand down to the Marchioness’s left breast, pressing down delicately. “After the hands are the heart, for the heart also sustains us and is where most of our feelings reside.”

“…and the rest of our feelings are here, right?” the little girl said, touching a hand to her mother’s stomach.

“Yes, the ones like worry and anxiety are here, the ones that make decisions difficult.” He then gave his daughter a grin, knowing what he was about to say was new information. “Do you want to know what you also bless, if you have a wife?”

“What, Papa?”

“The womb,” he said. He moved Maglina’s hand so that it was just above Seren, knowing she could feel nothing yet. “When a man has a wife, they can create children if they wish. The woman’s belly grows as her child prepares for the world, and there is a blessing that keeps the womb a safe place until the child is born. A womb is blessed whether a baby is growing or not, because it is important to remember how precious it is to both parent and child.”

“…but Tara says that sometimes men have husbands, and women have wives, and they still have children,” Maglina pondered, scrunching her tiny nose.

“That is a matter settled by the couple,” the Marchioness said, stroking her daughter’s hair. “It is all very complicated and not the business of anyone but them.” She was going to have to scold Tara in private later, for going and telling her little sister about common marriages without context or explanation. Maglina was young yet, and although she was as intelligent as her siblings, she also needed more worldly knowledge before having marital law explained to her.

“Do babies happen often?” the girl asked. She took her bunny and had him hop up to her mother’s stomach, tapping its nose to where her unborn sibling sat. “Some people have lots of siblings like me, but some don’t have any like Ori.”

“Sometimes a mama and papa can control that, to a degree,” the Marquis said. “Sometimes they want one child, sometimes many, and sometimes they cannot have any at all, no matter how often the womb is blessed. There is nothing wrong with any of it.” He scratched the stuffed bunny behind the ears and leaned in close. “What do you think, Malcolm? Is there a baby in there?”

Maglina made her bunny hop down to her, wiggling it by her ear. “Malcolm says he doesn’t know, Papa. Is there?”

“There might be, there might not—only Mama’s tummy growing can say for certain.”

“A baby sister would be nice,” Maglina yawned, snuggling into her mother. “Can I have a baby sister?”

“We’ll see,” the Marchioness cooed. She and the Marquis gazed into one another’s eyes, glad that arrow was dodged. Her husband settled back down along her side, draping his arm along her and their children, and whispered lowly in her ear.

“Things are going to be fine.”

 


	11. The Wedding of the Baron and Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: annexmachina
> 
> Prompt: Haven't seen any CyberMedic in while, so ... maybe a wedding day fic?
> 
> Originally posted: 28 October 2015
> 
> Notes: 1318 words; involved me pounding out a definitive ceremony process for the 'verse (though results may vary regionally, as I see fit 8D); I used more formal language when referring to Daniel and Martha here since it is their wedding day; remember pls that Daniel clearly has a type (kind, intelligent, sarcastic, in-charge, and 5'2"); hurray Daniel gets a happy fucking ending because happy endings in Who tend to be tough to come by (and jury is still out on whether Martha was sort of shoved off on Mickey or if it's legit (sorry Mickey))

The entire barony of Coal-on-the-Hill was buzzing with excitement; after two generations of stewards managing their affairs, not only did they have a liege lord again, but there was to be a _wedding_ for him as well. Banners and streamers of deep-moss green and black decorated Hill House and the nearby town, ensuring the enthusiasm of all but one.

“I don’t like it,” the Baron frowned. He adjusted the golden clasps on his cape, black like his jacket and trousers, while his shirt and cape lining were the same dark green. The war-finery hanging from his belt was new; the sword and knife untouched by blood and the pistol never fired. “Why can’t I just use the traditional colors of Gloucester? The people have accepted everything else about me.”

“…because this is a chance to show that you’ve truly accepted them, just as they have with you,” the Marquis glowered. He was becoming impatient as the two of them were shunted off to a tent to await the start of the ceremony, the older man there to perform the Baron’s deceased father’s duty. “I know it’s ugly, but they’re the traditional colors of the area: green for the hills and…”

“…and black for the mined coal, I know. Just, it’s going to be depressing seeing Martha in a black dress on her wedding day. It’s like a bleeding wake.”

“It’s _tradition_ , Daniel, and a tradition that doesn’t hurt to continue.”

“Clara wore blood-orange at your wedding,” the Baron noted.

“Yes, and the ceremony was in the capital; when my children marry, they will need to keep a very intense blue in mind, not to mention I give my daughters to the platform and not my son,” the Marquis argued in exasperation. “Inheriting power means you don’t get a very wide choice in many things, your wedding preparations included. I would think you would be used to that by now.”

“Milords? Are you both ready?” a servant asked, poking his head inside the tent flap.

“I am if your master is,” the Marquis said.

“Yes,” the Baron affirmed. The two men followed the servant out the tent and over towards the wedding platform. They were made to stand side-by-side in an alcove of screens, shut off to the world in all directions but forward. Most of the town, as well as the Hill House servants, were sitting in attendance, along with his new in-laws and the few members of the nobility who bothered with attending. The Baron squinted as he tried to identify them: there was the Marchioness Kasterborous and Gallifrey, holding her year-old son in her arms, next to the Earl and Earlessa of Braxos. The baron of the neighboring Shoreditch was there was well, looking worse for wear; he was likely there merely because the former Barons Coal-on-the-Hill were his cousins and didn’t want to seem disrespectful…

“Daniel, stand straight—you’re leaning,” the Marquis hissed. Sure enough, he was leaning forward as he was attempting to scanned the crowd. He straightened and soon Astra came bouncing around the corner of the platform and up to the men, a basket of red and yellow flower petals in her hand and grinning excitedly.

“Papa! Sir Daniel! It’s almost time to start!” she squealed.

“That it is; I wonder what the reward should be for you and your sisters for letting me borrow almost your whole family,” the Baron chuckled.

“No homework!” she cheered. Her tutor held a finger to his lips as the music started and their cue approached.

“Alright starlet, just like we practiced yesterday,” the Marquis murmured. Astra began walking, trying to keep her back straight and gait even so that she didn’t spill the petals. Her father and tutor hooked arms and followed her around the platform to the side steps, ascending to the top directly across from the bride and her mother.

The moment the Baron saw his wife, there was little else that was capable of catching his attention. Her dress was emerald green, though covered in an intricate design of black lace, and the bouquet in her hands held blossoms of Gallifreyan orchids. He barely registered that the Marquis took his hand to pass to the bride, nor that the two that offered the wedding participants went down the front of the platform together. All he knew was that the future Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill was before him and she was lovely.

“Be careful, or I might need to preform emergency medical care to make sure I’m not a widow on my wedding day,” she smirked, looking up into his face. How high were her heels? High enough to make the top of her head brush past his chin, that was for certain.

“I’ll be fine; it’s our lord neighbor you have to worry about, since it looks like he got to the whisky before breakfast,” he said quietly. He dropped his voice even lower, making sure she was the only one who heard. “Are you sure this is what you want? We can still run off here and find the next nearest town with a free platform.”

“No—we are _here_ , so you’re stuck,” she replied. The two giggled quietly as the magistrate went through his opening monologue, droning on while those in the audience waited out his drab speech.

“Now it is time for the vows,” the magistrate announced. He nodded towards the Baron, who went down on his knees, still holding his bride’s hands in his.

“I, Rupert Daniel Pink, Baron of Coal-on-the-Hill, pledge myself to thee, Physician Martha Samantha Jones,” he said, loud and clear for all to hear. “To have and hold; to strengthen our bonds and those of the kingdom; to protect and serve until one of us breathes their last.” When he was finished, he kissed her knuckles reverently. Astra appeared at his side to lend her shoulder as a brace to help him up, having long known that he wasn’t the best at getting up from both knees at once.

Then it was the bride’s turn to kneel in imitation of the groom. “I, Martha Samantha Jones, Physician of the Kasterborsian Border Forces, pledge myself to thee, Rupert Daniel Pink; to aid the kingdom, Coal-on-the-Hill, and Kasterborous with our counsel; to give to another what we want in return; to nurture, foster, and ensure our issue; to continue on, even when we are no more than names on the breath of elders.” She pressed her lips to the metal caps set into his hands and stood.

The magistrate said some words, unheard by the couple, and Lena stepped forward from his side. She held up a small box containing two golden bands, just as simple as their owners wanted them to reflect their humble roots. The Baron took the smaller one and slipped it on his bride’s finger, and she did the same for him and the larger band. More unheard words passed by them and towards their audience before the ones they wanted to hear rang out.

“You are now husband and wife; kiss and show the world your love.”

The Baron leaned down and kissed his new Baroness, placing a hand to the small of her back as he did so. They both chuckled as their flower bearers and ring-keeper gagged in disgust, loud enough to be heard over the applauding attendants.

“Sir Daniel! Hurry up!” Lena urged. Her tutor used his free hand to pat her on the head and got in another few seconds of kissing before breaking it, breathless.

The ring-keeper rolled her eyes and began to lead the procession down the front of the platform. After her came her sisters, spreading the petals of red, yellow, and blue as they went, and then the newlyweds, arm-in-arm and beaming happily.

“Ready for an endless line of villagers wanting to wish us wealth and luck?” the Baron laughed.

“Of course,” the Baroness replied.

 


	12. Tara's First Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Possible SASBB prompt? For one of the girls (maybe Astra?) - "You are my new best friend and we are spending almost all our time together because I have a friend who isn't related to me now except my parents have completely misinterpreted everything and think that we're trying to hide a relationship and wow this is going to be awkward since we all live in the same castle" (With an optional - "Huh, turns out my parents were on to something there")
> 
> Originally posted: 7 November 2015
> 
> Notes: 2622 words; I did genuinely think about Astra with this, but I do think the whole scenario works leagues better with Tara, because reasons, so at least it's one of the twins; starts when Tara [and Astra] is nearly sixteen and ends after her birthday; as far as the others, it's Johan at 68, Daniel at 51, Clara at 49, Martha at 47, Lena at 18, Sterling at 12, Maglina and Oriana at 10, and Seren at 5; some content may get edited into a future chapter, which I do genuinely hope because there's plenty of good material here, and this is not a full chapter only because it's so kids-heavy with little parental reaction (whereas with the Sterling/Oriana chapter there was at least some fun Marquis-Marchioness-Sir Daniel arguing; Johan and Clara just sort of shrug this one off)

For Tara Smith, the world was at her feet. One of the top students in her class at the Gallifreyan Academy, she was a star of the Officer's Program and the envy of many. She was talented both physically and mentally, with true natural ability to lead her fellow Kasterborsians into battle with safety and victory in mind. Everyone in her class started from the bottom, but she had scraped and clawed and studied her way to the top, and not a damn thing was going to stop her.

Tara Salvia of Gallifrey, on the other hand, was bored out of her mind. Weekends and evenings were often filled with studying and practicing, both for her and her siblings. She'd help them out without a problem, and sometimes working with her younger brothers and sister gave her the know-how when it came to helping younger students at the Academy, making things all the better for Tara Smith. It was still Tara Salvia of Gallifrey that was the most bored, however, and it drove her up the walls.

It was a rainy afternoon one weekend when she woke in her sister's bedchamber with Astra curled up next to her on the mattress. The twins had a bad habit of napping together, particularly when neither of their parents were around to scold them for acting more five than fifteen, and that day was no exception. Lena had been put in charge of the castle while their mother went to the capital for a bit of business and their father off to knock swords with Cyberans, leaving their children in the care of themselves and their tutor. Sir Daniel and his lady wife Martha had the younger three at their cottage, making it so that neither of the twins, nor the earlessa, had to worry for their siblings' wellbeing.

Tara sat up and glanced out the window—still pouring rain. She touched a finger to her sister's brow and projected a thought. _Restless. Wander. Back soon._ Astra murmured something into her pillow, though it was clearly understood. _See you later._ With that Tara left, silently closing the door behind her. The rest of the castle was still sluggish as well, meaning that most of the corridors the young woman walked down were quiet and peaceful. It was one of the rains off the distant sea, which usually brought weather that was only good for sleeping, shutting down Gallifrey for sometimes days at a stretch.

Making her way into the private training hall, Tara went and took a mock sword from the rack and began to swing it around despite being in a dress and heeled shoes. She did not mind the dresses and finery she wore at home compared to her Academy breeches, but she knew that delicateness could often get in the way of one's duty to serve and protect, meaning that constantly working on her balance was key. Lena and Astra were fairly competent in their own regards, though Tara knew she had to be the one who was flawless. There would be a day when she would have to attend an official function as Lady Tara Salvia and would have no time to change into Officer Tara Smith. She maneuvered through a series of dummies that were still leftover from her siblings' training session the day before, hitting and dodging the imaginary enemies for all they were worth.

The door to the hall opened and shut, allowing another person access to the facility. A quick look showed the young lady that it was only a servant, weighed down with a broom, mop, and bucket. "Do you need me to leave?" she asked, continuing her regimen. "If it makes it easier on you, I can always do this later."

"Tara…? Tara Smith…? Is that you…?"

She froze, her entire body trembling in actual fear. Tara slowly brought her sword down to her side and turned around, seeing that the servant was one of her Academy classmates, a recent transfer to Gallifrey at that.

"Petra, what are you doing here?" she asked. There was no point in trying to deny it—she still had her hair pinned up from when she went to school last and the bruise gained from sparring earlier in the week.

"It's a part-time job," the other teen said. "Not a lot of them open up to students, and when I saw that there was one, I jumped on it." She stared at her classmate, decked in a noble's finery, thoroughly confused. "I knew you lived in the castle, but why are you dressed like a lady?"

"That's because I… _am_ … a lady," she replied, each word more painful to say than the last. Lying would put her in even greater trouble, and she was panicking about what else she could say. "You don't know because you're from Croydon, but…"

"Does anyone know?" Petra wondered.

"Not really," Tara replied, shaking her head. "Only the Headmistress knows officially. The servants that know don't say anything because I want to do this by myself, and other than that it's my family, the Coal-on-the-Hills, and… you."

"Wow… that's… I can barely believe it," Petra marveled. "Everyone's told me that the local rulers are an odd bunch when it comes to how they raise their kids, but…"

"Not a _word_ of this to _anyone_ , do you hear me?" Tara demanded. "Don't go spreading this at school, or I'll make sure no one believes you."

"Don't worry; I'm not like that," Perta chuckled. Her classmate was being incredibly defensive, and if she learned anything about diffusing situations, it was that laughter usually worked. "Besides, I'm leaving at the end of next term, remember?"

Oh yes, that's right—her father's appointment to the Kasterborsian Border Forces was only to last until the end of the year. "Thank you; I appreciate it."

"Go ahead and talk to me any time about it," Petra said. "I know it's tough—there was a serdar's son in Chiswick who attended the Academy and it was rough on him. You aren't taking shortcuts despite the fact you could if you wanted… anyone who wouldn't keep your secret isn't worth keeping around."

"Yeah… I… um…" Tara bit her lower lip, unsure how to continue after being shown such a kindness. "I'll leave you to your work then. See you at school?"

"Of course," Petra agreed. Tara then rushed to put the practice sword back on the rack and exited the room, nervousness gripping her for the first time since she started the Academy.

She was done for.

* * *

That night at dinner, Tara stayed quiet as she picked at her food. The Coal-on-the-Hills and her elder sisters noticed, but said nothing so as to not draw attention to it. Instead the conversation was focused on the younger children and how much mischief they were getting into. Maglina and Oriana had decided to teach Seren how to make mud pies earlier in the day, much to Lady Martha's amusement and Sir Daniel's horror, and they even pelted Sterling with them, as evidenced by the bits of dried mud still in his hair. They kept on as normal, not making a fuss, because if there was anything Tara disliked it was being fussed over.

It took until late that night, when she was lying in bed still wide awake, for anyone to do anything about her mood. Astra walked into her bedchamber and slipped between the sheets, hugging her twin from behind, making sure their hands touched.

' _What's the matter?_ ' she asked wordlessly, using the silent method their father had taught them. They were careful about their gift, only using it when the situation called for ultimate discretion.

' _A classmate caught me in the training hall earlier. She promised she won't tell, but I'm scared. I don't get scared… this isn't me. I don't know what to do._ '

_'Having another student at the Academy who knows your situation might be a good thing_ ,' Astra reasoned. ' _If she promised, then it would be her that's ruined if she told, not you._ '

' _It still makes me uneasy_ ,' Tara replied. ' _She leaves after next term; Dad's a high-ranking officer in the King's army. He gets transferred often_.'

' _Then get to know her now. You're very lonely, Tara. It hurts to see you so alone_.'

' _I knew I'd be alone the moment I set foot in the Academy_.'

' _That doesn't mean you have to_ _ **remain**_ _alone_.' Astra hugged her sister a little tighter, frowning at the red night that bled through the room. ' _Please do me a favor: try being her friend, even if it only lasts until Seren's birthday_.'

Musing on that, it took Tara more than a moment to reply. ' _Okay, I will_.'

' _Good, now let's sleep_.'

* * *

"Hey Petra, got a minute?"

The teen turned around to see Tara standing in the school corridor. Classes had just ended for the day and their fellow students were all itching to get home for the day.

"What's going on?"

"I was wondering: since we both have jobs up at the castle, would you like to study together? There's that big exam coming up, and it always helps to study with someone else."

Petra saw how nervous her classmate was and tried giving her a smile. "Of course; think maybe we can get permission from the Family to use their training hall when it's not in use? I'm almost positive I could use some practice on my sword footwork, but there's no one at home to spar with."

"I'm sure we can weasel our way in there somehow," Tara grinned, feeling much better. "Meet you by the school doors in ten? I have to see Professor Benton about some underclassman he wants me to tutor during free period."

"See you there," she replied.

The girls parted and ten minutes later they were together again, walking up towards Castle Gallifrey. After being nodded through the front gate by the guards, Tara led Petra up to her family's private wing, where they found Astra lording over her own schoolwork in the children's study.

"Uh, Astra? This is my friend from school, Petra," Tara explained. "Petra, this is my twin sister Astra."

"Pleasure to meet you," Astra said pleasantly. She shook Petra's hand and rang the bell for tea—three times to give notice on their numbers. "Please, sit down."

"Wow… I don't think I've met identical twins before." She looked between the sisters, observing their similarities and differences. "Does anyone ever mix the two of you up? I think it would be difficult at a glance if your hair was the same length."

"On occasion, but it was worse when we were younger," Tara said. "I thought you've lived pretty much everywhere, but you've never met identical twins?"

"Yes and no; I've run into identical twins, but none that I've sat down and really talked with. Mostly it's just a classroom relationship, never being invited into a home."

"Well, any friend of Tara's is welcome," Astra guaranteed.

Tea came and the teens began to work on their studies. They stayed there for hours without incident, until the Marchioness came into the study, having returned early from her trip to the capital.

"…and who might you be?" she asked, taken aback. Tara nearly choked on her biscuit while Petra stood at attention, saluting respectfully.

"Academy Cadet Petra Sutton, milady," she replied. "I attend classes with Lady Tara and have a temporary part-time job cleaning in the training hall and armory."

"Alright, alright, calm down," the Marchioness said. "I take it you invited her over, Tara?"

"Yes, Mama," the teen said, embarrassed. "Petra is trustworthy."

"Good; now are you staying for dinner?"

"No milady; Mum and Dad expect me home." The clock in the corner then began to chime, making Petra curse under her breath. "Actually, I'm late. Please excuse me." She gathered up her things and stuffed them in her bag. "See you tomorrow, Tara."

"Bye Petra!" she called out after her. Once their visitor was out of earshot, the Marchioness stared her daughter down, raising an eyebrow curiously.  
"Not that I'm cross, but how long has this been going on?"

"Today was the first day she came over; she only first found me out over the weekend," Tara admitted. "I can still see her, yeah?"

"Of course you can, if you're sure you've got a friend in Miss Sutton," her mother replied. She examined her daughter, the gears in her brain turning. "Was she here as a study partner?"

"Yeah…? What else would she be here for?"

"Just checking." The Marchioness then left the room, determined to go fetch her youngest three from their tutor's cottage before it was time for dinner. She knew how soldiers were, and if that was how her daughter skewed, then so be it. All it would take is a bit of time for Tara to realize it herself and that was fine.

* * *

The weeks passed, turned into months, and Petra began to spend more and more time at Tara's side. She would come to the castle, clean as her job instructed, and then dash off to wherever her friend was waiting for her. Oftentimes they would sit and study, having tea while sitting next to one another at a table or on a settee, but other times they would wander the grounds, spar, explore the castle, and even go around the city together. They became virtually inseparable, not wanting to see the day when Petra had to move away again.

They were sparring in the training hall one frigid day in late autumn when it happened. A school-wide grappling tournament was going to happen before term's end and both of them wanted to be ready. Tara pinned Petra down, cackling in triumph.

"Gotcha," she gloated. Petra pushed her off and the two sat on the mat, giggling at one another.

"So then that's thirteen to seven," she counted. "For us being in different weight classes I'd say that's pretty good."

"Slender muscles," Tara bragged. She glanced over at her friend, silently comparing the two of them. Although Petra was slightly shorter than she was, she had enough extra power on her to nudge her into a higher class. They were both breathing hard and soaked in sweat, the workout having been a good one for them both.

Suddenly, Tara swallowed hard and her face went red. A feeling low in her gut was pulling, nagging, and urging her to move closer to her companion. Instead she hugged her knees and tried to focus on something else to no avail.

"Tara, are you alright?" Petra wondered.

"Yeah… um… yeah… I'm fine," she lied.

"No, you're not. Are you hurt?" Stars, she moved _closer_ to Tara, close enough that she could smell her; sweat and soap and fresh, sweet bread. "Are you okay?"

"I, um…" She looked down and saw Petra's hand next to her. Tara hesitated before lacing their fingers together, her stomach leaping in nerves. "Is… um… this okay?"

Petra locked her gaze with Tara's, leaning slightly closer. "I move in less than a month; do you really want to go there? It'd be short… can you handle that?"

"…yeah. Can you?"

"I haven't lived in a single place more than two years since I was small—of course." She moved in closer, their noses touching.

That was all Tara needed. She closed the gap and kissed her, pulling her in until their chests were pressed together. They kissed and grasped and giggled, holding one another tight.

"Hey," Tara whispered, barely able to breathe.

"Yeah?"

"Would you like to spend the night?"

Petra grinned and stole another kiss before giving her answer. "Yes."


	13. Ancient Power in Young Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: for sasbb which i always pronounce sasib-bee in my head could i ask for the first time one of the kids uses an ancient word of power maybe like seren since johan talked to him all the time in the womb idk
> 
> Originally posted: 14 November 2015
> 
> Notes: 938 words; takes place when Seren is two; the ages of the others who make appearances are Johan at sixty-five, Clara at forty-six, Lena at fifteen, and Sterling at nine; a note to make is that in the SASBB verse, Ancient Gallifreyan is one of the more complex languages to learn and takes great skill and mastery to be able to cast proper/practical spells, so while many people in Kasterborous/Gallifrey have at least a smidgen of the old words in their vocabulary, actual spellcasting tends to be a rarity and what happens here is the freakiest of flukes

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" Seren called out. The little boy ran towards his mother, bouncing with each step, crossing the governance hall while dashing around serdars and other lesser lords alike. Sterling tried running after his baby brother, but kept on accidentally bumping into people, necessitating many, many apologies.

"Oh, there you are," the Marchioness cooed as she picked up her youngest and cradled him in her arms. "Did you miss Mama during court?"

"Mama _**mine**_ ," the toddler muttered, rubbing his face possessively into her chest. Sterling finally caught up, straining to catch his breath.

"Where's Papa and Lena?" he asked. His parents' and sister's governance chairs were both empty and the other two were nowhere in sight. "He said he wanted to see you three."

"No, _Mama_ ," Seren insisted. "I want _Mama_."

"Lena is over there talking to some lords and Papa needed the loo," the Marchioness explained quietly. "Did Sir Daniel say you could leave your lessons?"

"He actually sent us to the nursery—Seren started coloring on the walls instead of on his papers," Sterling explained sourly.

"Oh really now?" the Marchioness replied, voice stern. She tilted Seren's chin up to force him to look at her. "Did you color on the schoolroom walls?"

"No…." he mumbled, trying to look away.

" _Seren_ …"

"Maybe little bit…"

"Uh-huh. You are going to have to apologize to whomever has to clean that up now, and I think maybe help as well," she frowned. She didn't want any of her children to end up the sort to make unnecessary messes for the cleaning staff, and learning how difficult it was to clean up would help them appreciate the services of people like maids. It wasn't much of a problem when it came to her older children, yet Seren being the baby of the family by many years meant that she needed to be more vigilant when it came to making sure he did the right thing simply because of everyone's tendency to spoil him, even her. "Do you hear me, Seren? You're going to help the maids scrub your coloring off the walls."

"Forgive me for intruding, but are you seriously going to make a child _scrub walls_?" Clara and Sterling turned their heads to see one of the lesser lords—a baron with some landholdings in the countryside in lieu of a barony proper—and Seren buried his face again. "Why would you ever make the poor boy do that?"

"To learn his lesson properly," the Marchioness said. "Nip it in the bud now and he won't go destroying priceless things later, such as paintings and statues and who _knows_ what-else."

"You must be exaggerating," the baron chuckled. "He wouldn't have done that if his governess were stricter with him."

"We have no governess and we don't need one," Sterling said adamantly. "We have Papa and Mama and Sir Daniel and Lena and Astra, so Seren, Maggie, and I don't need a governess."

"No governess might have worked with your sisters, but boys are often much worse-behaved," the baron tried to reason.

"Have you ever _met_ my sister Tara?" the boy fired back, expressionless.

"Go away!" Seren commanded the baron. He stuck out his bottom lip and glared, his powers of intimidation in the same stage of infancy as he was.

"You won't get to order me around, young sir," the baron tutted. The Marchioness held her tongue not because she knew he was right (which he _technically_ was; Seren outranked him by being her child, but unless he inherited a title in some round-about fashion, he'd never get to do much with it), but because it was going to be too much trouble to actually deal with the man in front of her.

"Boys, I see Papa has come back," she said instead. "Why don't we go over there and talk with him?"

"We no go, Mama! _He_ go!" the toddler insisted.

"Now really, milady… you go about saying he needs to learn manners and now—"

" _Greadleat!_ " Seren screamed, his hand out towards the baron. The air in front of the man warped slightly, becoming dense, and suddenly burst, sending him careening backwards and through one of the windows. Sterling grabbed onto his mother's skirts, pale eyes wide at the sight of the open window, while the Marchioness was just as shocked. The whole hall fell silent, all eyes on the enraged boy.

"What was that…?" Sterling wondered, voice barely above a whisper.

"Stars in the sky… he used one of the ancient spells," the Marquis gaped, appearing at his wife's side. "I haven't even told _Sterling_ how to work Old Gallifreyan into a spell yet."

"It looks like he's alright!" a serdaressa shouted from over by the window. She was looking out the broken glass, careful not to cut herself. "He landed in a tree!" The noise within the hall resumed, except now everything was hushed and secretive.

"Thank the gods we don't have that to deal with," the Marchioness breathed. "No wonder people rarely use those awful spells anymore."

"He was mean and didn't leave," Seren defended. "I made him leave."

"This one is yours," the Marchioness huffed. She passed Seren to his father and took Sterling by the hand. "Come on, sweetie; we're going to get you a nice snack for dealing with your brother for so long while he was misbehaving." They walked out of the governance hall, not seeing Lena approach her father and brother to give the latter an affectionate hair-ruffling, nor the nonchalant shrug the Marquis made before setting the boy on his shoulders and continuing on with his socializing.


	14. The Marchioness's Sickness and the Marquis's Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: thenotoriouscow
> 
> Prompt: something 12/Clara fluff, something IWoaH/SiaSoBaB or WoF
> 
> Originally prompted: 22 November 2015
> 
> Notes: 1846 words; warning that this does start out really sad, but it gets better; lots of hurt/comfort going on here; there is likely a lot of "pathology doesn't work this way", so I'm sorry anyone in the medical fields my best advice is to MST3k Mantra this and remember it's a fantasy AUverse

News spread quickly about the Marchioness's sickness throughout her land, collapsing of fever in the middle of court. She was an adept ruler, loved by most and respected by even more, though none wanted such a fate for her as dying with young children still in early schooling years and her eldest not yet of-age. Worse yet was the standstill that the marquisate ground to, as the Marquis abandoned his duties to stay at his wife's bedside. The Earlessa and her sister tried to keep some things moving, but without the authority their parents carried, there was not much that they could do.

"Her fever's climbing," the Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill said, taking the thermometer from her patient's mouth. Their husbands were both there with her, standing at the foot of the bed in the chamber. "Unfortunately, no matter what I do, it's going to get worse."

"Why's that?" the Marquis asked, his expression flat. He never took his eyes off his sleeping wife, using his lord's mask as a shield.

"This infection will only get worse and worse—some people get better after they seem to go to the brink, but most die," the physician explained sadly. "It is very tricky to tell who will be the lucky ones until the upswing and if they stay on that path or revert until death."

"Is she contagious? Are the children in danger?"

"No—it's contracted intestinally. It's very likely she had some bad water on the road at a stop no one else drank at. Most people if they contract this do so as babies, when their immunities have begun to develop on their own, and it is not as deadly then, but many adults die and I'd say that is the risk with being a bride not of Gallifrey."

"Then I will stay with her," he said. "Go and get some rest, please. I can handle being a nursemaid."

"Johan, don't give us that," the tutor said. He placed a hand on the other man's shoulder, only for him to shove it off.

"I said I can handle it," he snapped. The tutor took a step back and frowned, though his wife came between them, glaring up at the Marquis.

"Listen: don't be a _fool_ , Johan," she fired back. "I really hope this is not the end for Clara, but if it is, then you need to keep yourself together for the kids, got it? My earliest memory of you was wandering the Primary while in mourning black on your annual visit, at a time when _any_ other nobleman already in his title would be prowling the Season for a new wife if he didn't have one already. I understand losing Lady Melody was a shock to you back then, and losing Clara won't be any easier when the day comes, but you know what it's like to mourn now and you have six young ones who don't know if you need to be their rock or not. You may stay, but for your stars' sake get it out of your system."

The Marquis swallowed and nodded. "I understand," he said, voice quiet and raspy.

"Very good; now I'm going to show you what to do, and then Danny and I are going to go back home. We'll take your children with us for the night and I'll come back in the morning. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like I am lucky to have such good friends," he admitted. After being instructed in how to care for his wife, the Marquis was left alone, the Baron and Baroness off to fetch all seven children and bring them back to their cottage. They were good people, the Pink-Joneses, and even though his eldest two daughters were skilled enough to care for their youngest siblings, it was always more of a comfort knowing that they could have some support as well.

The violet evening crept into the room as time passed and eventually night fell upon them. Servants brought in a humble tray for their lord and a broth for their lady, should she wake. The Marquis politely nibbled at the food between adjusting pillows and cooling his wife's compress in water. He knew he had to eat, and the words of the physician repeated plainly in his mind.

Deep into the red of night, the Marquis finally experienced a change in the Marchioness's behavior. She began to cough, her breathing labored, and so he quickly leaned her forward and rearranged her pillows, setting her back so that she was sitting up.

"Johan…?" she wondered.

"Yes, I am here," he said, taking her hand in both of his.

"Where are the children? I want to see them."

"They're with Daniel and Martha; would you like me to send for them?"

"No… if they're there, then that lifts my spirits just as well," she smiled weakly. "My body feels so _cold_ , Johan. What's happening to me?"

"It's a commoner's childhood sickness, brought on by bad water," he explained, throat tightening. "It's claimed many adult lives in the past and you have no immunity because you are not originally from here. The children should be fine, since they have been exposed to people with the sickness already in their blood since birth, but we don't know about you."

"…but they're alright, and you're alright…"

"…physically, yes." The Marquis took the cloth from her forehead and felt the skin there, finding it to be hot. He rewet the cloth and rung it out, replacing it carefully. "Mentally… I'm not sure."

"You are silly, you know that?" the Marchioness coughed. "This day was coming whether we wanted it or not; we both knew it would happen, despite the jump you've got on me."

"…when we are both white-haired and our starlets each have their own moon and stars, not now," he retorted. "I'm not ready to have another wife torn away from me… not yet."

"Martha won't mind being a mother to our children if I return to the earth early, helping Lena where she has little experience, but _don't_ force Daniel to be their father," she commanded. "I know you, and if you don't have something to focus on, you won't survive long enough to lead Lena to the wedding platform, let alone Maglina."

"Then get well so that you can take Sterling and Seren there and Lena and Martha won't have to," he replied. "There is still a chance you will."

"Let me be brave, Johan," his wife said. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. "If I survive, then we will continue to be happy, but if I don't, then you will not insult my memory by sulking and withdrawing from the world. Don't make the children suffer even more by having them lose both their parents."

"The thought already hurts…" he admitted. "My hearts can't take it."

"Then I guess we're both going to have to be brave."

After that the Marquis went and helped her drink some broth, spooning it out carefully so as not to spill. The Marchioness then had him climb into bed and read to her, arm around her shoulders and with her pressed into his side. He read until well after she fell asleep, afterwards going to sleep with her in his arms and the book in his lap. Tucking her head under his chin, he didn't want to let go and risk losing her forever.

The lord dreamt that night, an uncomfortable terror if he'd ever have one. In it he had both Clara and Melody before him, bound and trapped and at-risk of being consumed by the incoming flames from behind them. He would only have enough time to save one—a decision that punched him in the gut.

Quickly he moved towards Clara, fumbling with her bonds as hurriedly as possible. He heard the voices of their children urging him to move faster, to save their mother, to make it out alive. This was the life he chose, and he knew there was no going back to a woman already dead.

" _Grandpapa?_ " a little voice asked suddenly. " _Why won't you save Grandmamma?_ "

He turned his head and saw a young girl, the very image of Melody at four years. Behind her were two other children, a boy and a girl, each without a face, and behind them he could see his childhood love, now aged as he had become over the long years. Featureless adults and youths stood around her, silently pleading for _their mother's life_. He stopped and reached out, wondering how this could even happen. The spectres became smoke and Melody went up in flames. Turning back to Clara, he found that it was too late, and the fire had reached her as well. He tried to pick her up, carry her out of danger until he could have enough time to undo her bonds, but he couldn't move in his panic. She cried out, cursing him in the ceremonial tongue as flames enveloped her.

" _Clara, no!_ " he wept, falling to his knees. He felt a hand touch his shoulder, though he did not react.

" _Johan_."

" _Leave me_."

" _Johan, it's time for breakfast_."

The Marquis woke with a start, finding that he was laying down in bed with his arms still around his wife's waist. The Marchioness, however, was sitting up, a tray on her lap and a kind expression on her face.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she giggled, brushing his curls from his forehead. Twisting one end of his whiskers affectionately, she let her fingers trail along his face, tracing his jaw and coming up to his lips. "You were talking to your dreams again."

"It was a nightmare," he explained as he sat up. He pressed a kiss behind her ear, tears in his eyes. "At least, I don't think it is one I shall have again."

"Then at least drink this tonic and regain your strength; you've worried yourself so much that you might become ill soon as well," the physician smirked. He glanced towards the end of the bed and saw her at a table, finishing off mixing some medicine before pouring it into a glass and bringing it over to him. It tasted horrid, but he finished it all anyhow.

"Thank you," he said. "How are the children?"

"They slept well knowing you were here and are even better now that their mum's awake," she grinned. "Clara should be ready to see them in a couple days. Until then, she's all yours."

The Marquis exhaled and kissed his wife on the temple, pulling her in a wee bit closer. She retaliated by tearing a chunk of her bread and popping in his mouth. "Good," he replied through the bread. "I let Clara Oswald get inside me, and when that happens, she never leaves, meaning as long as I have her hand in mine, my hearts are at ease."

"How poetic," the physician said. It was good that they had each other, she thought, for they truly were meant to be.


	15. You're Too Young to Know - Version Lena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: For sasbb I want to see the kids all grown up, but not too old, so someone's being an asshole because: "You're too young to know" but they prove them wrong.
> 
> Originally posted: 14 November 2015
> 
> Notes: 1036 words; takes place when Lena is 19; she has to deal with a lot of shit I'll tell you what; makes me feel a little guilty, because I want to properly fill this with one of the kids as actual adults, but doing that would involve ~*~*spoilers*~*~ and I don't want to play my hand too early, if you get my drift

People really did bore Lena Anthea, Earlessa of Gallifrey and Heir of Kasterborous. She hated how they became progressively more predictable the richer and more titled they were, making her daily routine anywhere between dull and tedious. The serdars and lesser lords of Gallifrey had mostly adjusted to her presence and command, but she was not in the familiar blue-stone halls of her birthright. Instead she was in the capitol, being subjected to national-levels of ignorance, grinding her teeth as the minutes crawled along.

“We have to reconsider sending more troops to the borders,” the count argued. “There are plenty of home-grown soldiers who know the situation and terrain better than our more southern forces. Giving up more of the southern soldiers will mean a lack of military presence, and a lack of military presence will mean that the baseborn and middling folk will begin to get agitated.”

“Obviously the words from a man who has never seen a swarm of Daleki filter out of the forest, rifles firing and no end to them in sight,” Psi frowned. The Earl of Braxos was one of the few intelligent ones, Lena found, and a valuable ally if there was ever one. “We sleep soundly in our beds at night because of the Kasterborsian Border Forces and those sent to assist them. Take away their help and we could have another Dalek War on our hands… maybe even a Cyberan invasion!”

“So you’re saying that the Kasterborsians are unable to defend themselves?”

“No, he’s _saying_ that as talented and well-trained our soldiers are, there is only so much we can do,” Lena scowled. The remaining council members all stared at her, most of them strangers, wondering what the delicately-framed young woman was going to say.

“Now how would you know that?” the belligerent count fired back. “The very fact we’re talking to you and not your father should be sign enough that Gallifrey is not taking this seriously.”

“My lord father is considering this with the _utmost_ seriousness,” Lena said. “I am here so that he can head off to the borders at a moment’s notice, or stay at home while my lady mother goes off instead. We live the reality that you seem to be bent on denying exists, so if you think my presence is a slight, then you are sorely mistaken.”

“You are young—you should be concerned with suitors and preparing to perform wifely duties, not squawking nonsense about soldiering matters,” another lord said.

“Do you believe that soldiering is not a woman’s place?”

“No; plenty of my best soldiers are women, but they are small and middling folk. You are highborn… highborn and too young to have much experience in military campaigns.”

Lena narrowed her eyes, brows furrowing angrily. “Psi? You are my witness: I didn’t draw my sword and run this vole through.”

“Noted,” the earl chuckled. He relaxed in his seat, knowing that things were going to get rather interesting very soon.

“I’ve heard of your swordsmanship,” the count sneered. “You beat on a fool who was no talent the last time I checked.”

“I put an insolent child in his place,” Lena clarified. Her hand found the hilt of the sword at her hip and she palmed the pommel, the feel of the engraved metal cool and soothing on her hand. “I saw more enemy soldiers before I blossomed into womanhood than you ever will in your entire miserable life… that is, as long as you agree to allowing more national soldiers to my contingent.”

“The only insolent child I know anything about is you, Earlessa,” the count deadpanned. “Don’t you agree, gentlemen?” A chorus of murmurs followed him, backing him up unintelligibly. “Your insistence at meddling in these very adult matters is going to be your downfall. You already skipped being presented both this season and the last, and you’re not doing yourself any favors with your obstinacy. It’s not a very attractive or pleasing quality in a wife, which means you will only make things difficult for yourself in the long-run.”

“Then maybe a husband isn’t in my future,” she suggested. “I do have younger siblings that can provide me with heirs should I decide to eschew pursuing a married life. I don’t know how any of this pertains to an increase in my troops’ reinforcements.”

“A child that can’t even understand why she needs a husband can’t be trusted with valuable troops that otherwise are well-used quelling villagers and their petty uprisings.”

“Then maybe the uprisings are justified,” Lena said. “Give me the extra soldiers and I will keep the nation’s borders safe. I have Braxos behind me, a man well-trusted by everyone here; what else do you need?”

“That is enough,” the king ordered. He had been silent so far, sitting at the end of the table observing the conference. “Earlessa Gallifrey, what is the minimum number you desire?”

“Two thousand; one from your army and one collected from the various forces around the kingdom. If I could have access to _five_ thousand it would be of great use, but I need two at the least. Those at the front need to be rotated, or have access to rotation, frequently or else we risk battle fatigue and burning out highly valuable personnel.”

“…and for how long?”

“While I don’t expect anyone to stay in my service for that long, I do hope to have reinforcements for about five years. It may take a year or two extra, depending on how the long-term pans out, but I think we can make do.” She held up a piece of paper, which a servant took over to the king. “That should be one of the more accurate numbers projections, though I still ended up calculating on the conservative side.”

The king glanced over the hand-written notes and nodded in satisfaction. “I think we can spare three thousand at first, split between the pools, and if after two years you need more, we can give you the full amount.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Lena said, bowing her head. She smugly shot a glance towards the count that had attempted to resist her plans, flashing her teeth. “We have a deal.”

 


	16. You're Too Young to Know - Version Seren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted: 27 November 2015
> 
> Notes: I was thinking about the previous prompt fill when I had a thought about Seren at eighteen, since it's already been established in IWoAH that he takes over Blackpoole from his grandfather and a scene there could involve minimal spoilers as well. 823 words; takes place when Seren is eighteen, his birthday being when his grandfather stepped down from the position of viscount (hint: Lena is thirty-one, as a comparison); only contains Seren as far as characters we've met and known so far, so apologies for that; I can barely wait for adult!starlets in the main story because they're pretty awesome as a whole

It was a boring, gloomy day as Seren sat down at the head of his counsel table. He always felt lucky and grateful that he would rarely need to report to a higher lord’s court, let alone on a regular basis, meaning the fact that he could hold sessions at his leisure felt luxurious. He was still trying to win over his grandfather’s men, however, making it so that the entire business was a tricky one.

“Alright, I think it’s about time for the report on the wall fortifications,” he said, glancing over his to-do list. “Dent? Do you have the necessary breakdowns on the cost estimates?”

“Yes, here you go,” a dour-faced serdar said, pulling out a piece of parchment and handing it to a servant. It was given to Seren and he began to scan it, a frown on his face. “Is there something wrong, _milord_?”

“I’ll be frank: I don’t trust these numbers,” he replied. “Who tallied them?”

“I did myself—I can assure you that it’s perfectly legitimate.”

“Then I assume that you accidentally miscalculated, because it should not be this much.” Seren took a pen and began ticking off items. “These are the items that seem a bit high to me.”

“With all due respect, sir, but that might simply be the pricing differences between Blackpoole and Gallifrey,” Serdar Dent said, clearly ruffled. The servant brought back the numbers once Seren was done. His brow furrowed in irritation. “Are you _mad_?!”

“No, simply sensible,” the viscount deadpanned.

“Those numbers are made based on decades of experience; you’ve been viscount only two months.”

“Clearly I’m more knowledgeable than you believe me to be.” One of the women at the table bounced the child in her arms as it began to fuss. “Now this is increasingly looking like a ploy to get more of the viscounty’s gold out of its coffers. Grandpapa would not have passed down the title had he thought I was not ready for the responsibility.”

“Laborers are not as cheap here as they are in the north…”

“…which is a flat-out _lie_ : labor is cheaper _here_ due to a greater availability of hands. I’ll overlook this once, but _don’t_ think that you can pull this on me again.”

“…but milord…!” The serdar’s attention snapped over towards the crying baby, a scowl on his face. “Did you _have_ to keep your child from her governess?!”

“Our governess is ill and there was no suitable substitute on such short-notice.”

“Then Baronetess Caldwell,” Seren said, “we’re going to move on to you. Did you get the logistics plans together for the festival in the summer?”

“Yes, I have them here…” the mother mentioned, trying to sort through her papers one-handed. Seren stood up and walked over to her side, carefully taking the baby from her arms. Everyone stared at him as he carried both child and plans back to his chair, no one willing to speak up. He placed the sheets of parchment down side-by-side and checked them over as he held the little girl against his chest, bouncing her slightly and humming in her ear, placating her easily.

“It looks like these are pretty much in order,” Seren nodded. “Where is the band going to set up? I assume you’ve got a stage for them tucked away somewhere.”

“Yes, I do, but… milord…?” Caldwell said, marveling at her daughter. “How did you get her to calm?”

“Being by far the youngest of six in a family that tends to believe the governess to be a myth, I’ve had my share of nappies, babysitting, and restless nights with my nieces and nephews. Number Six is coming within a few months and the one marriageable sister left is engaged—my siblings are nowhere near done producing heirs and spares to shove towards Uncle Seren.” He looked at the baby settled in his arm, staring up at him with large blue eyes that starkly contrasted against her brown skin. “What is her name?”

“Emilia.”

“ _Well then Emilia_ ,” he murmured to the child in the ceremonial tongue, “ _I hope your governess makes a speedy recovery. You are not a hindrance by any means, but you need to be able to giggle and play and do all the things children should do while they can_.” Emilia cooed in agreement and tried to curl up as she snuggled in his chest for a nap.

“Was that northern magic, milord?” Caldwell asked cautiously.

“No, but you are correct in that I spoke the northern language it is cast in just now,” Seren replied. He readjusted his cape so that it covered Emilia, keeping her cozy. “Trust me when I say you’d know if I was using a spell on your child; for one, I’d ask your permission first.”

“Thank you, milord—you’re an honest man,” Caldwell nodded. She turned towards Dent and grinned. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dent’s reply was muttered and unintelligible, though definitely soured.


	17. The Festival of the Violet Sky (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: I was wondering, even though I don't know what version of winter festivities they celebrate in SASBB, could I ask for Johan and Clara's first one of those as a couple post-falling for each other?
> 
> Originally posted: 01 December 2015
> 
> Notes: 1603 words; takes place while Lena's still a bun in the oven

The first snow had long fallen upon the March of Kasterborous, melted and replaced by a second and a third and a fourth just two nights before. There was a festival planned by the small and middling folk to be held on the grounds of Castle Gallifrey, open to all marchers and citizens of the earldom, and it was often considered one of the ways for the people to show off their pride for their wares and kinfolk alike. On the shortest day of the year, which was rather short indeed, the final preparations were being patched together during the morning as the Marquis and Marchioness were readying for the day.

"It still amazes me how early the people get up for this," the Marchioness marveled, glancing out the window of the bedchamber. It was still red as night, with only a tiny bit of ruby peeking over the horizon. Her husband pulled his shirt on over his head and went to her side to join her.

"The Festival of the Violet Sky is an important one, no matter how cold it may be," the Marquis replied. "Our people look forward to it every year."

"Well, when the sky is as peculiar as it is here, I'd definitely think it would be something worth celebrating," she said. She went and wrapped her arm around him, using her free hand to touch her stomach. "It will be an interesting event in the future, that's for sure."

"The child will love this festival, just like their papa has his entire life," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. "It was one of the things that kept me sane in my dark days, so don't you worry—our heir will be brought up to know this tradition well."

"Our heir and all their siblings," she corrected. "There is no way that we lay as often as we do and expect to reach old age with only one child to our names." The Marchioness went over to the vanity and sat down, beginning to brush the night's tangles from her hair. "I assume you won't want to stop once the child is born, correct?"

"Of course I don't want to stop laying as husband and wife, but…" He scratched the back of his neck as he trailed off, thinking of how to voice his concerns. "You are young, but soon enough you will begin to grow barren. I don't think it wise to get hopes up for more than one child. Maybe one more, but I'm not sure"

"You don't know anything about how a woman's body works, do you?" she laughed, putting down the brush and heading over to her wardrobe.

"I know how things… happen…" he claimed, waving his arms about. "I know about moon-cycles and the changes that happen when a woman's with child, and when she cannot have any more children. It's just that you don't know when the latter changes begin in any woman—it could begin after you give birth."

"I am not going to grow barren at thirty," the Marchioness chuckled. She plucked a warm, woolen dress from the wardrobe, red and roomy enough for the slight bulge that was beginning to show on her midsection. A flannel underdress went on first and the Marquis helped her lift the wool one over her head and tie it in the back. "My grandmamma did not stop her moon-cycles for good until she was well over sixty; can you imagine? Some would probably not make it to full term and the later years would be spaced out, but we could very well have fifteen."

"… _fifteen_ …?!" he sputtered. He then grew quiet, his hands resting tenderly on her hips. "Would you really carry fifteen children?"

"If that's what I'm meant to do, then so be it," she replied. She reached up and pulled his face down, pecking the corner of his lips and whiskers. "In a perfect world, how many children would you want?"

"However many my wife wants," he said. The Marquis returned the kiss before heading back to his wardrobe, pulling out one of his thicker jackets.

"How many did you and Melody want?"

"Two, maybe three," he said casually. "We were both only children, so growing up together meant that there was always someone around to play with. Neither of us would have done very well had we not had one another."

"Neither of your parents wanted more than one child?"

"My forefathers were mainly men that either didn't want more than one or couldn't have more than one for a variety of reasons. Mama's job kept her away long enough to where it was a miracle she stayed put long enough to birth me within the Kasterborsian borders."

"You've told me about how she was always off on digs and expeditions," the Marchioness said. "I really wish I could have met your parents—they had such an odd, endearing love."

"Stars, I wish _I_ could remember Mama myself," the Marquis scoffed, giving himself one final check in the mirror. Once he was sure his jacket was secure and not a hair was out of place, he sat down and began to pull on his boots. Soon the couple both had on their boots and fur-lined capes, gloves and caps shoved discreetly in an inner pocket, and they left the room, wandering their way down to the ground floor and outside into the violet twilight.

Throughout the grounds, the pre-festival excitement was beginning to really bring the crowd together. The Marquis bought himself and his wife warm sausage rolls and flower-tea for their breakfast while they inspected many of the various stalls that had been set up. A carver from the hinterlands sold them a cot that would be the perfect size once their child outgrew the one still in storage, handed down for generations, as well as an ornate rocking horse with a head resembling a dragon's. Then there were the weavers from the Braxosi border who had the gentlest cloth for sale that the Marchioness absolutely _needed_ for her child's clothing, to which the stall's elder threw in a knit blanket and some remnant pieces from a used bolt as extras. The rulers had not yet perused even half the stalls before the sky was at a blue noon and they headed towards a dais that had been set for them in the center of the festival area.

Raising his hands to quiet the now-thick crowd, the Marquis waited until there was sufficient silence before he began to speak. "Fellow Kasterborsian marchers, citizens of Gallifrey, and friends from beyond our borders, the Lady Clara Oswald and I, Lord Johan Lonan, would like to thank you for coming out on this bitter-cold day to celebrate the Festival of the Violet Sky!" He paused, letting the crowd cheer, before continuing. "We hope for this to be a strong link in the chain of Festivals, to make those who came before us proud and to keep the standard high for all those who come after us. After today the violet will wane and the days grow longer once again, but one thing that shall never wane is our pride in these lands and what we make of them!"

The crowd cheered again, agreeing heartily with the Marquis. It was then that his wife stepped forward, her turn to address the festival attendees.

"As one not born into these customs, I am pleased to say that I only look forward to days like this with increasing excitement every year, but that it is also an honor and a privilege that my children should grow up with traditions such as this one as early as next year!" Her audience whooped happily—it was well-known she was finally with child after five long years of waiting. "Now, I would like to declare the Festival of the Violet Sky open!"

Everyone cheered and clapped, ready to begin their year-end festival. The excitement only exploded as the Marquis picked up the Marchioness and twirled her around in his arms with his cape billowing out, ending in a loving kiss, something rarely seen by both commoner and nobleman alike.

"Johan, you're such an idiot," the Marchioness sniffled. Her nose was beginning to run, half from the cold and half from tears that flowed easier now that her child was beginning to show. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest.

"Anything for you, my dearest Clara," he replied. "The moon in my sky, she who shall light the violet and the red, I want no one to ever claim I am not completely and entirely in love with you. The bump on your belly is not there of pure duty, after all." He put her down and made sure her cape was snug and secure before they descended the dais and began to mingle amongst the others at the festival.

Before long the light from the sun began to fade and the sky above tinted towards the celebrated violet, with clouds of pink and gold and lavender complimenting it. Lanterns illuminated the stalls and walkways, allowing festivities to go on until well past sunset. The Marquis and Marchioness were there for it all, not afraid for their safety partly thanks to the many guards and watchmen that were milling about. There was something in the air that kept the grounds virtually trouble-free that day, as with most Festivals of the Violet Sky, and it was a treat that neither of the march's rulers would give up for the world.


	18. The Festival of the Violet Sky (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: thenotoriouscow
> 
> Prompt: Can we have more winter fluff with Johan/Clara please?
> 
> Originally posted: 6 December 2015
> 
> Notes: 1429 words; has even more of the Festival of the Violet Sky; takes place when Sterling is the one that's still a work-in-progress, meaning Lena is six and Astra and Tara are four

“Mama! Papa! Come on!” Lena cheered, her sisters not far behind her as she ran. “We need to look at this one next!”

“Give your mama a bit of time to catch up! She can’t move that quickly right now!” the Marquis scowled. He led his wife through the growing crowd of festival attendees, one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand.

“ _Johan_ ,” the Marchioness deadpanned, “I have more than a month to go yet; you’re being silly.”

“You’re the mother of my stars, Clara—I think I’m allowed to be cautious when the ground is slick and our child is large.” They finally caught up to their daughters and found them all eyeing miniature meat pies, warm and fresh from the earthenware oven the stall-runner had hauled onto the grounds. “Now what do we have here?”

“Pies! Pies! Pies!” Tara chanted. “I want a pie, Papa!”

“Do all of you want a pie?” he asked. The girls bounced in place, excited. “Alright, but this means we eat a smaller lunch later.”

“Okay!” The Marquis paid for five meat pies and watched as the vendor handed the earlessa and her sisters theirs first. Carefully nibbling the edges, they held their pies beneath their faces as they opened a hole in the pastry and steam poured out.

“Be careful with your mittens, girls,” the Marchioness gently warned. “Miss Addy worked hard on those and it’d be a shame if you got grease on them.” She then took her own pie, thanking the vendor, and watched her kids wander away while they ate. Once her husband had his, she turned to him, frowning. “I thought you talked to them about wandering off.”

“They know not to venture too far from our side,” he said. The Marquis ate his pie one-handed, as he kept an arm occupied with his wife’s shoulders. He glanced upwards at the sky, lavender clouds lightly dropping snowflakes on the castle grounds below. “I wonder what things will be like when the girls are grown and we will wander under the violet sky without a worry or care?”

“You will _never_ stop worrying about the children,” she reminded him. He nodded and took a large bite of pie, keeping his mouth busy. “What I can see is you doing is attending Presentation Balls with the precise mission of making sure that not a single man even _looks_ at our daughters.”

“I thank the stars often that I was never raised with an emphasis on the Season,” he replied, trying not to spit pie. He swallowed what was in his mouth and cleared his throat—the memory of being explained the Presentation Season as a child welled up in his mind. Melody and he had been confused at its purpose, but then again, they were seven and eight. “Our daughters will be raised the same way, knowing that they are not merely worth what we have set aside for their dowries.”

“That’s good to hear.” She paused and glanced around and frowned. “Johan?”

“Yes dearest?”

“I think the girls have already failed to heed your warning.” The Marquis scanned the crowd and sure enough: no sign of their daughters anywhere.

“I’ll be back,” he growled, cursing in the ceremonial tongue. The Marchioness smirked as she watched him storm away, leaving her alone in the throng of people. She went over to a nearby stall and began to look at the wares, the owner having wandered off temporarily. It was various candles, all different scents and sizes, along with accessories to go with them. The stall owner finally came back, catching the Marchioness examining the candles, a smile on her face.

“See anything you like, milady?” she asked.

“All of this seems expertly made,” the Marchioness replied. “The candles smell wonderful—how come I’ve never seen you before?”

“We don’t make the trip very often; I live in the mountains with my sisters and we usually prefer to spend the Violet Sky alone.”

“Then thank you for making the trip all this way!”

“It is not a problem.” The stall owner’s eyes landed on Clara’s stomach and nodded solemnly. “How is your child, milady? Is he behaving for you?”

“The baby is behaving, yes,” the Marchioness said. She then stopped, looking at the stall owner. “Why did you call them a he?”

“Because you are having a son,” the stall owner stated. “A boy like his father, if his father had sisters. He will be a kind boy, a handsome boy, a dutiful boy, and he will make you proud.”

“Why… thank you…” The Marchioness wasn’t too sure how to respond to this unsolicited information. “How… um…?”

“Karn shows us many ways to see what cannot be seen by natural means,” the stall owner explained. “I am rarely wrong, and even if I am, then the worst that shall be is another maid to roam the halls of the castle with her mother’s ferocity and compassion.”

A light flickered on in the Marchioness’s head… of course, the Sisterhood of Karn. They were known for their enigmatic ways. She gave the woman a smile and touched her stomach. “Can you see anything else?”

“He will grow up loved by his family and will be very loving in return. He will be happy and content with his lot in life, and he will become a man to be proud of; all your children shall be worthy of pride and praise.”

“Why thank you,” the Marchioness said, bowing her head. “May I please take three of those candles and a wrought votive?”

“Very well, milady.” She packed up the purchase and took the payment, just in time for the Marquis to walk up and join them.

“Get something, did we?” he asked congenially.

“New candles for our chambers, from Karn,” his wife explained, holding out the box. He took it, only to reveal that there were three cords of rope wrapped around his hand, trailing behind him. “Johan…? What is this?”

“The solution to our problem,” he declared. She looked behind him and saw their daughters, each standing grumpily with a rope end tied around their middles; Tara even looked like she had resisted and fallen in the mud, her front completely covered with brown splatter.

“ _This_ is the solution?”

“I see smallfolk do it all the time and what’s good for them can be good for us…”

“Yes smallfolk do this, but for their _pets_ , not their _children_ ,” the Marchioness hissed. She waddled her way around her husband and bent awkwardly to untie the girls. Only able to reach Lena’s rope, she had the girl untie her sisters. “Now, what do you say to Papa and me for running off?”

“We’re sorry,” they replied in unison.

“Good, now we are going to go back to the castle and you are going to _stay in the nursery_ while Papa and I see the rest of the Festival. If you behave and the maids give us a good report at dinner, then you’ll be allowed back.

“Okay…”

The family then walked back to their private quarters together, the Marquis and Marchioness returning to the festival as planned once they were sure their children were secure and Tara was in clean clothes. It was a chilly, though romantic, afternoon as they meandered along, arm-in-arm and huddled close. Sure enough, the maid left in charge of the girls said they behaved impeccably upon their return, and as a reward they all went into the lantern-lit grounds and watched as fireworks were sent up into the now-clear sky, their hands and bellies warmed by cocoa.

By the time it was time to turn in, with the Marquis carrying both twins asleep balanced on his hips, it was long past the girls’ bedtime. Their parents put them down in their warm beds and went to their own room to ready for the night. The Marchioness burned one of the new candles as she changed clothes, allowing the smell of lavender spread throughout her bedchamber. She snuffed it before turning in, carefully sliding into bed and into her husband’s grasp. He curled into her side, one hand on her waist and the other on her belly, murmuring in the ceremonial tongue as he pressed a kiss against her neck and drifted towards sleep.

Was she going to tell him? No… what the Sister said was something meant for a mother’s ears only. She turned her head and took in his scent as she too closed her eyes and tried to dream.

They were having a son.

 


	19. Parenting Classes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Can i prompt something like Clara/Twelve (or maybe even Johan!) going through one of those 'learning how to be a parent' classes before their baby arrives? And seeing what fun dynamic they may have?
> 
> Originally posted: 14 December 2015
> 
> Notes: 1345 words; went with the Johan route because Johan being indignant is hilarious but also kinda sad at the same time; ended up being h/c fic so sorry; no, really, I'm sorry, because I was crying by the end because Johan's manpain flared up again and since it's actually manpain worth writing it packs a bit of a punch

The Marquis slouched sourly in his seat, arms folded over his chest. “I know how to hold a baby, Clara,” he protested. “I’m not _completely_ helpless.”

“Johan, I want to make sure you will be fine when your child is born; it’s not that long away anymore,” the Marchioness argued. She was standing near her husband, the midwife next to her, everyone in the nursery. One of the castle’s clerks was there as well, holding her three-month-old baby that was to be her employer’s practice subject. The three women were becoming rather irritated with the Marquis and his extra-abrasive behavior, not that he was letting that get to him.

“The next child I want to hold is _my own_ , no offense to Mrs. Halstead and her son,” he groused. “Just let me _be_ , alright?”

“No, it’s _not_ alright,” the Marchioness frowned. She could feel the child in her womb wriggle and kick, and she placed her hand on her enlarged stomach in an attempt to stay calm. “Our _heir_ is being born in a few weeks and you need to be ready. We already agreed that we would not hire a governess, which means that both of us need practice holding an infant.”

“I have had plenty of practice in the past, which seems to be something everyone loves to forget as of late.” He stood and made for the door, only being stopped by his wife’s grip on his forearm.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave this room,” she warned. He instead shrugged her off, disappearing into their bedchamber. The Marchioness groaned in frustration, sinking down into the chair.

“It will be fine, milady,” the midwife assured her. “Fathers often become testy as a birth draws near. Would you still like to hold the young Johan?”

“Yes, please,” she nodded, trying to not let her voice crack. The clerk knelt down in front of the Marchioness and passed her the baby, being very careful to not allow his head to go unsupported.

“The neck is often flimsy when a baby is first born,” the clerk explained. “Johan can support his head somewhat, but even he can’t stay upright all the time.”

“It’s difficult work being someone so young,” the Marchioness sighed. As she held the boy in her arms, her own child continued to grow restless. She tried to ignore her unborn and traced her finger over the infant’s features, observing him as he slept. “Tell me: is Johan a family name?”

“In my husband’s family it is,” the clerk replied. “Sometimes it skips a generation or two, but we are no strangers to the name. Is that a name you’re considering for a son?”

“I’m not sure,” the Marchioness admitted. “Every time I try to bring up names, my husband nearly has a fit.” She passed young Johan back to his mother and stared at him happily. “Another Johan wouldn’t be all that terrible, if that’s truly what he wants, but there are already so many Johans that have helmed the marquisate that I’m unsure whether I should pull the Mum’s Veto.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” the midwife nodded. She and the clerk then left the room, saying they would return within a few hours’ time to try again with the Marquis. The Marchioness sat alone for a while, waiting until her child was rested, before she poked her head in her bedchamber. She found her husband laying on their bed, quite seemingly having thrown himself atop the bedding in a fit.

“Johan? Are you doing alright?” she wondered. She heard him whimper through a pillow, which made her walk around the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress, right near where his head was so she could fuss with his hair. “Please tell me what’s gotten into you; you’ve been so _euphoric_ lately and that was exactly the opposite.”

He lifted his head and turned it, immediately plopping back down on the pillow. His eyes were rimmed with red and there was crust along his nostrils and creeping into the top of his whiskers. He looked at her, expression pained, as he took her hand in his and squeezed gently.

“Johan or Johanna,” he explained, bringing her knuckles to his lips. He kissed her hand tenderly and held it close, not wanting to let go. “That was what their mother wanted, so I was prepared to share my name with my firstborn.”

“Oh…” the Marchioness realized. She took her hand and placed it along the side of his head, cradling his face. It was still wet from tears and warm from the pillow. “This is not discussing names, okay?” He nodded silently. “This is me banning that name for this child, and nothing more.” She took his other hand and placed it on her stomach, allowing him to feel the scant movements inside her. “That was a long time ago—if it bothers you still, talk to me. People like us… we have to say things to one another.”

“Some babes refuse to suckle,” he remembered, eyes glassy. Swallowing hard, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against their unborn, head now in his wife’s lap. “It took ten hours and twenty-six minutes.”

“…for what?”

“For them to die.” He paused and licked his lips, musing on the memory. “I held them for the last five hours or so, sending the servants away until I was the only living soul left in the wing of the house. The midwife tried all the feeding mothers in the village to find a wet nurse, but all she could do in the end was bring them back, place them in my arms, and apologize. I sang to them until they joined their mother…” The Marquis choked up, his tears beginning to silently flow anew.

“…and you never looked back,” the Marchioness said, tears falling from her eyes as well. “You’ve been able to move past all that… that’s what you’ve been telling me.”

“Not as well as I’d thought, apparently,” he replied. “You know, before I left Jarlshall, I sat Melody up, put our child in her arms, and kissed them both goodbye.”

“You are so bloody _**dramatic**_ ,” she cried. She firmly tapped his shoulder with her palm, not wanting to hurt him though also wanting to beat the melancholy from him if that’s what it took. “Why can’t you focus on what’s going on _right now_ instead of dwelling on your damned survivor’s guilt?!”

“…because that’s what happens to those who get left behind.” He sat up and took the kerchief from his pocket, wiping the tears and snot from his face before bunching it up to a clean part and dabbing at his wife’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, you know I am, but I know how to hold a newborn babe—none of that has left me. There’s little else in the world I want than to be than Papa, so please let me wait to hold a child until it’s _our child_.”

“Okay,” she croaked. The Marchioness leaned forward and kissed her husband’s lips, holding his hands between them. “Just do me a favor, yeah?”

“Anything.”

“Hold Johan once, make the midwife happy, and stop acting so irritating. I know that’s a lot, but can you, please?”

“I’ll do my best,” he vowed.

When the midwife and clerk returned to the nursery, they found that the Marchioness had coaxed the Marquis back into the room. He sat in the rocker as he was passed the young lad, his eyes red and puffy as he sang a lullaby in the ceremonial tongue. After changing Young Johan’s nappy he handed him back, thanking the clerk for volunteering her child before leaving for the other room. The Marchioness stayed, watching the boy feed and getting pointers on how to raise a child from infancy. When the session was finished, she joined her husband in their room, only to find him asleep from exhaustion. She laid down next to him on the bed and closed her eyes—this time she knew things were going to be alright.

 


	20. Tara's First Love (II)

Petra and Tara walked hand-in-hand through the guards that were blocking off the entrance to the private sector of Castle Gallifrey. Chances were that Petra could have navigated her own way through the castle unperturbed, even without her Academy uniform, but Tara did not want to take any chances that weekend. She brought her guest into her bedchamber and they immediately went for the settee, giggling and pawing and kissing aggressively.

“I do think I like you better in dresses,” Tara murmured against Petra’s neck as she pinned her down. She bit in retaliation as her girlfriend grabbed her breasts and squeezed; things they had discovered one another liked.

“ _I’m_ better in dresses? You look the part of a lady in them and it makes me weak at the knees.”

“Note taken.”

“Ahem…”

The teens stopped their fun and glanced over towards the new voice. Astra was there, locking the door behind her.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t bug me when I’ve got Petra over,” Tara scowled, flopping down on her girlfriend’s chest.

“I thought you weren’t dumb enough to actually do that sort of stuff _in your room_ , where, you know, _anyone can see you_ ,” Astra mentioned. She sat down on a chair and smoothed out her skirt. “I just wanted to know if you two were going to do anything for Seren’s birthday; it’s in two weeks.”

“Not that I was aware of,” Petra said. She then grinned devilishly as a thought crossed her mind. “If we use one of the secret passageways, you want in on this action?”

“No,” Astra deadpanned. “Just because you and Tara go about canoodling doesn’t mean that I want to as well. I’m not into other girls.”

“Yeah, Astra’s _the good twin_ and is going to marry a man with money and a title and have a dozen babies by him and be respectable while I’m the one everyone is going to be ashamed of,” Tara grumbled, keeping her face securely between Petra’s breasts.

“Okay, for one, the three of us know that you are a secret at the Academy only so that you aren’t treated unfairly, and that the secret can drop once you’ve graduated,” Astra snapped back. “For two, if Mama and Papa were truly ashamed of you, they would have packed you up to live with Grandpapa and Lady Linda a long time ago already. For three, it doesn’t matter if I marry a man who is rich _or_ titled, because it’s very likely that I will make enough money to support him and a family by working for Lena.”

“Lady Linda?” Petra wondered.

“Grandpapa’s rich hag-wife,” Tara explained. “She lives out in Blackpoole and never visits unless she positively has to.”

“…which still doesn’t change if you’re getting something for our baby brother or not,” Astra insisted. “You _are_ the one who always forgets.”

“…no I don’t…”

“…because I remind you.” Astra stood and patted the back of her sister’s head, attempting to be as patronizing as possible. “Don’t forget that it’s in two weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah; bugger off and let us be,” Tara muttered.

“ _Fine_.” She then turned her tune from annoyed to sweet. “It was good to see you again, Petra. Did your dad get that extension he was hoping for?”

“Nah; we’re back to Croydon at term’s end.”

“That’s a pity—I really would have liked you to stay around even a little while longer,” Astra said in earnest. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“No, just a bit of a snog and we were going to have a late lunch in the city,” the guest said.

“Then I’ll see you two another time,” Astra smiled cordially before leaving. Before long, Tara and Petra were left alone, cuddling on the settee with no one around.

“How about if we go into the city early and look for Seren’s birthday present?” Petra offered, rubbing Tara’s back affectionately. “What do you want to get him?”

“A swift kick in the arse; boy whines too much.”

“He is your _baby_ brother… I bet it’s difficult being the youngest.”

“All he does is pout and things go his way though,” Tara mumbled. “I’d rather take you up on that offer to go into the castle passageways.”

“All you’re doing is pouting right now, so I can’t say you’re any better.” Petra kissed the top of Tara’s head and chuckled. “Take me through the passageways dalek, milady, but the price is we go shopping for Young Lord Seren’s present immediately afterwards.”

Tara lifted her head to look at Petra. “ _‘Milady’_? You must be serious.”

“Serious as I’m ever about you,” she replied. They pecked one another lightly on the lips and scrambled to their feet—the afternoon was going to be a busy one.

* * *

“How old _is_ your brother turning, Tara?” Petra asked from across the toy store. She was holding a stuffed bear, examining it carefully. This wasn’t something she wanted to mess up—it was the first time she’d gone gift-shopping for a beau’s sibling before. “I know he’s in early Primary, but he usually doesn’t come anywhere near us when I’m at your place.”

“Five? Six? I’m not sure,” Tara replied from over by the mechanical dolls, watching them move in wonder. “He mostly follows our parents around, or our friend’s parents, or our sisters… pretty much anyone who’s not me.”

“You need to be nicer to him,” Petra frowned. She placed the bear on the shelf and walked over to her girlfriend. “So what if he’s headed towards the College? He’s still your brother.”

“I guess.” Tara didn’t necessarily enjoy the idea that she wasn’t as close to one of her siblings as the rest, but the feel of Petra’s arms around her from behind was a comfort, as was using the cover story she had crafted for herself in public. The daughter of servants, that’s all she was. Tara Smith was the daughter of servants with too many kids and enough privilege to live at the rarely-used Castle Gallifrey servants’ quarters.

“Well, other than throwing a fit, what is he normally doing when you see him?” Petra inquired.

“He and Maggie like to play pretend,” Tara mentioned, not daring to mention Oriana’s name in the occupied store. “He loves snuggling with our parents and singing songs and reciting poems in the ceremonial tongue…”

“That’s it!” Petra said. She grabbed Tara by the hand and dragged her out of the toy store, heading down the street until they entered a bookshop. It was much more deserted and quiet, with the few customers that were there browsing and reading to themselves in peace.

“A book…?” Tara asked dully as she was brought to the back of the store. “Why a book?” Petra whispered in her ear the plan and suddenly their grins matched.

Yes; this was going to be the perfect gift.

* * *

A week later and Petra was back at Castle Gallifrey in one of her better dresses. She met Tara at the front of the private wing and they immediately went to pick up a brightly-wrapped package from the top of a cabinet in the family study. They then took it to the nursery, where Seren was curled up in bed sick with the sniffles, the Marchioness sitting in a chair by his side.

“Oh, I didn’t think I’d see the two of you here,” she said as the teens walked in. “Sorry, but our Seren here has a fever, so I don’t think I’ll be available for a while.”

“We’re actually here to see Seren, Mama,” Tara replied. “We have a birthday present for him, but since Petra’s going off on a school trip on his birthday, we wanted to give it to him today.”

“A present? For me?” Seren wondered. His nose was clogged and his throat raw, but he perked up all the same.

“Here you are; Happy Early Birthday,” Petra grinned, setting the package down on the boy’s lap. He tore off the paper and found a box underneath, which he opened with a bit more care. Inside was a book written in High Gallifreyan, covered in delicate swirls and circles, resting atop a warm blanket made of fabric red as the night sky.

“A book…?” the little boy observed. “…but I can’t read it.”

“It’s a book of stories, all in the ceremonial tongue,” Petra said. “Tara checked them to make sure they’re ones you’d like. You do like learning Old Gallifreyan, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” he sniffled. He then touched the blanket, his eyes going wide. “It’s so soft!”

“You seem like the kind of kid that would like a good book and a warm blanket on a cold day,” Tara explained. She stared at her youngest brother tentatively, waiting for a reaction. “Do you like it?”

“I do! Thank you Tara! Thank you Petra!” He wriggled out from underneath his blankets and bounced up on his bed, hugging both teens excitedly. “Mama, you can read this! Can you read it to me now?!”

“Maybe I can help you read it,” the Marchioness offered. “Thank you very much, girls. I hope you class trip goes well, Petra.”

“Thank you, milady,” she said with a curtsey. She and Tara then left the nursery, holding hands as they ambled down the corridor. “See? I told you it would work.”

“Didn’t doubt you for a moment,” Tara snickered. She then gently tugged Petra towards a cupboard, arching her brows suggestively—less than a month until her girlfriend moved away and they were going to make the best of it.

 


	21. The Anniversary Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: clarionglass
> 
> Prompt: may I request something super fluffy in SASBB or TTOU 'verse?
> 
> Originally posted: 27 January 2016
> 
> Notes: 1882 words; features Seren as an adorable nugget because I love Seren as an adorable nugget; rough ages are as follows: Johan at 68, Clara at 49, Lena at an old 17, Astra and Tara at an old 15, Sterling at 12, Oriana at 10, Maglina at an old 9, and Seren at 4; if you think Seren has a large vocabulary for a 4yo, it's because he does, but that's what happens when all your siblings are as old as his are

Taking advantage of their tutor’s absence, Seren slid out of his chair and crept around the schoolroom table to his eldest sister’s side. He looked up at her with all the importance his four-year-old self could muster and tugged at her sleeve.

“Lena?”

“Go back to your work, Seren,” the teen said. “I have to get this essay done so that Sir Daniel can send it into the University tomorrow.”

“…but this is _important_!” he demanded.

“Do you need to use the loo?” Sterling asked. “I can take you.”

“No! I need to know what we’re doing for Mama and Papa’s anniversary!” the younger boy declared, stomping his foot. His siblings and Oriana all stared at him curiously.

“What do you mean?” Astra wondered.

“Last year, Sir Daniel and Lady Martha had a big party, but Mama and Papa had nothing!” Seren said. “Mama and Papa deserve a party too!”

“Seren, last year was my mum and dad’s tenth anniversary,” Oriana explained. “We have grand parties every ten years, maybe a smaller one at the fifth years, but the in-between years couples do as they want.”

“Yes, and Mama and Papa have told us that they don’t want or need anything but each other for their wedding anniversaries, and have expressly forbidden us from doing anything,” Lena added. She picked up her brother and set him down in her lap, hugging him gently. “Did you really want to do something for Mama and Papa?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “I don’t want them to feel left out.”

“Trust me: they won’t,” Lena assured. She stroked her brother’s springy hair and rocked him gently. “Now, how about if you go and work on your numbers, so that Mama and Papa can be proud of you for that?”

“Okay,” Seren reluctantly agreed. He slunk back to his chair and sat down—numbers weren’t as exciting as his siblings had told him, and they certainly did nothing about the impending anniversary. Kicking his feet in the air, he thought about what to do, even after the tutor returned and decided to go around the room checking his students’ work. He wanted to _do something_ , so something was what the little boy decided he was going to do.

* * *

“Sterling? I need your help,” Seren said, knocking on his brother’s door. It was a free day for them both, only Lena and Astra having to attend lessons. Sterling opened his bedchamber door and couldn’t stop his younger brother from zooming in and plopping himself on the settee with a pad and pencil in-hand.

“What’s this about?” Sterling wondered.

“I need help,” Seren repeated very seriously. “What are things that Mama and Papa like?”

“You still aren’t on that anniversary business, are you?” Sterling groaned. “They don’t feel as left out as you think they do.”

“…but this is _very important!_ If pudding brains can do things for their parents’ anniversaries, then we can too!”

It was no use—the younger brother’s mind was made up. Sterling sat down next to him and looked over the incomplete list of “Fun Things for Mama and Papa’s Annieverserrie”. There was cake, balloons, singing, dancing, yummy food—whatever that was supposed to mean—and Granddad.

“These are all the things you like,” Sterling pointed out.

“…because they’re _fun_ ,” Seren said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Listen,” Sterling said, “maybe you should go ask for Lena and Astra’s help, or maybe Ori’s…”

“No! They don’t understand!” Seren wibbled his lower lip, inflating his brown eyes until they were big as they could get. “You understand, don’t you, Sterling?”

“I understand that you’re being silly.”

“Nooooo! Come _on_! Please?!”

“ _Seren_ …”

“ _Sterling!_ ”

“Okay, _listen_ ,” the elder brother said firmly. “Next year is Mama and Papa’s twenty- _fifth_ anniversary. That’s going to be the year where we do something for them, not now. Our parents don’t like having attention drawn to them.”

“…but they’re Marquis and Marchioness! The Doctors! How do people _not_ pay attention to them?”

“There’s a difference between paying attention to them as the rulers of the march and city, compared to them as a married couple.” The twelve-year-old pondered his response, not fully understanding the reasoning himself, yet knowing that his brother needed a concrete answer. “Our parents... aren’t what you’d call normal.”

“Well yeah! Normal people are the middling and baseborn folk! Mama and Papa are highborn!”

“No, no, no… not like that,” Sterling said. “Sir Daniel was baseborn, and Lady Martha middling, and they are as good as highborn now, and Ori is definitely highborn, and nobody has a problem with any of it.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Seren nodded, making his brother wonder what “normal” was supposed to be. “But I still don’t get how they’re not normal. What sorts of things do normal mamas and papas do?”

“You’ve seen how Lady Martha and Sir Daniel kiss, right?”

“Uh-huh! All the time!”

“Well, that’s normal for married people.” Sterling thought about kissing Oriana and blushed. “Normal married people kiss in front of others all the time. Where do Mama and Papa kiss?”

Seren thought about that, putting the blunt end of his pencil to his mouth. “In their chambers, really.”

“Exactly—Mama and Papa don’t really kiss or hold hands or hug or anything like that in front of other people, because they want to always look like they have Kasterborous and Gallifrey’s best interests first, not their own.” Very pleased with that response, Sterling patted his brother on the head, making his brother giggle. “Mama and Papa won’t mind if we don’t do anything for their anniversary, so don’t worry.”

“This all sounds very complicated,” Seren stated. “So Mama and Papa don’t kiss because they don’t want to look like bad guys?”

“Sorta; they don’t want to look like they only care about one another.”

“…but they care about _us_ …”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between caring about your family and caring about your job,” Sterling explained. “It’s easy to not look like you care about your job when you’re born into it like Mama and Papa were.”

“That’s not very fair.”

“No, it’s not, but that’s how things go when you mix inheriting titles and things into people’s lives. We are actually really lucky with how Mama and Papa run Kasterborous and Gallifrey—because they make an effort to do their best, the people see that and we don’t have the kinds of cross people that other lords and ladies have to deal with.”

“What sort of cross peoples?” Seren asked curiously.

“Do you remember how we had that maid who was really bad at her job last year? Well, if a maid can be bad at her job, then a lord or a lady can be too, and that’s when you get people wanting a _new_ ruling family, or none at all, because if a maid is bad at her job, a room is messy, but when a lord or lady is bad at their job, things are much worse than messy rooms and wrinkled laundry.” Sterling paused, trying to see if there was understanding on his brother’s face. “Does that make sense?”

“Kinda.” Seren scrunched up his nose in thought. “I don’t see how that’s why I shouldn’t get them anything.”

“Make them something, if you really want to,” Sterling suggested. He shrugged nonchalantly, or his best imitation of nonchalant, and looked at his brother. “You know, something out of clay, or draw a picture, or something like that… something around here.”

“Can I get them flowers from the glasshouses?”

“Mama and Papa already get themselves a bunch of flowers all the time. Making something would be better.”

“Okay Sterling; it’s been a good talk,” Seren decided. With his most serious face on, the younger boy patted his brother’s shoulder before strutting out of the room. Sterling collapsed on the settee with a tired moan—having a baby brother was more trouble than it was worth.

* * *

A few days later, the Marquis and Marchioness woke late after having a lie-in, snuggled in one another’s arms. They greeted each other with lazy kisses and roaming hands, giggling at their fortune.

“Good morning, my lovely moon,” he murmured against the hair behind her ear. “Even in the dawn, you are the most beautiful being in my humble sky.”

“…and you, my romantic idiot,” she chuckled. With a grab of his rear she could feel his muscles tense in anticipation—this was a morning that it was instructed for the servants to stay far away from their chambers unless they knew they were away. She bent over him and initiated a kiss, long and loving, which took breath from them both. They stayed like that until the tell-tale squeak of the nursery door opening made them pause and press their brows together.

“What is it, starlet?” the Marquis asked. They glanced over and saw Seren bouncing their way, already dressed for the day and carrying a piece of paper in one hand and a handful of flowers (complete with dirt-clodden roots) in the other.

“Happy Anniversary!” the little boy beamed. He crawled up into the bed, crinkling the paper and smushing the flowers before holding them out. “Lena says you don’t like a fuss, but I’m not a fuss.”

“Oh, why thank you, sweetie,” his mother cooed, taking the flowers. “How did you know dandelions were my favorite?”

“They are…?!” Seren gasped. “Wow! I’m lucky!” He then held out the paper towards his father. “Don’t forget this too!” The Marquis took the paper and looked it over, curious.

“Oh, this is Mama and me?” he asked, trying not to sound like he needed a confirmation. Seren laid down between his parents and pointed up at his masterpiece.

“Yup! That’s you, and that’s Mama, and the stars are us!” He leaned in towards the Marchioness and whispered loudly, “The frowny one is Tara.”

“I never could have guessed,” she smirked. She gave her son a kiss on the cheek and tickled his tummy. “Why thank you, Seren. This was a nice surprise.”

“I agree with Mama; you did a splendid job,” the Marquis agreed. He too gave their youngest a kiss and gave him a gentle shove. “Now hurry along to breakfast or Lena will wonder what you’re up to.”

“Oh gosh, you’re right!” After wishing them well again, Seren scuttled off and let his parents be, not knowing that they burst into laughter the moment he shut the door.

“Six out of six—now that’s something,” the Marchioness said, rolling her eyes at the flowers. “I’m glad they get it all out of their system early, or we’d have stacks of drawings and a lawn-full of dried dandelions.”

“I don’t know… Seren seems to be onto something here,” the Marquis noted. “He did give me a very lordly sort of look in this drawing…”

“You are a tall, grey bean with whiskers and a scowl, while I am a short red bean in a dress.”

“I never said he was _perfect_ , merely onto something.” He grinned and kissed his wife, allowing her to take the paper. “Putting it with the others?”

“Of course, after I get in some private time with my tall, scowling bean,” she purred, pulling him in for a kiss.


	22. The Academy Students (Birthday Fic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: thenotoriouscow/Caroline
> 
> Prompt: could I pretty please request more Tara and Petra?
> 
> Originally posted: 24 March 2016
> 
> Notes: 1732 words; this is Caroline's birthday present and draws me fanart of these two dweebs gtfo; it's just pretty much a day-in-the-life sort of thing, featuring two teens who are in lesbians with one another; also has some Academy teachers; takes place after chapter 25(!) of the main story, and takes place before chapter twenty of the prompts

“Power couple” is what they called them. Petra Sutton, the transfer student from everywhere, and Tara Smith, the servants’ daughter who gave up being tutored alongside the Doctors’ children to attend the Academy; they were formidable as soon as they decided to date. If someone had any thoughts of trying to push Petra around, they didn’t as soon as they learned who it was she was snogging behind the benches in the gymnasium. Tara was not only the one student no other dared mess with, grade level be damned, but she pushed and encouraged her girlfriend to do better, hit harder, strike swifter.

Once one was on Petra’s bad side, they were on Tara’s as well, and that bode well for no one.

Except for the fact that yes, they did end up doing things like snogging behind the gymnasium benches or hiding up one of the courtyard trees when they wanted some privacy or even ducking into a cupboard when things were getting a bit dull, and that was more trouble than they could have gotten from anyone else. The cupboard was how they were caught this particular time, tongues down one another’s throats and hands in inappropriate places. Their teacher stood there with a disapproving frown on his face, letting them know he meant business.

“I’d prefer if you two saved this sort of behavior for _after_ you’re out of my charge,” he scolded. “There are better things for me to be doing on my down hour than run around chasing after you two.”

“You can’t possibly mean that, Johan,” Tara grinned.

“ _Professor Benton_ certainly does mean it,” he replied. “Now shoo, the both of you, before I get your parents involved.”

The teens ducked out of the cupboard, grabbing their bags, and held hands as they giggled their way to where they were _supposed_ to be. Their fencing lessons were held outside that day, which meant there was less cover to hide under when approaching the rest of their class.

“Oh, good, you two finally decided to join us,” the teacher snarked. “How about instead of sparring with your tongues, you spar with the rapiers.”

“Whatever you say, Yatesy,” Tara shrugged. She and Petra waited for the match that was going to end before picking up their own practice swords. They stepped into the sparring circle and crouched into position.

“Fight!”

The two were a flurry of thrusts and parries, attempting to strike at one another for the precious first point. After a few minutes time was called, for their instructor knew that if he let them keep at it, they’d go until classtime was up.

“Alright Miss Sutton, Miss Smith, looks like you’ve not been slacking on your practice—now don’t make me get Professor Benton to fetch you two again or I’ll have to involve your parents,” he said. “He’s not like us, so he doesn’t really understand.”

“Professor Yates, are you saying Professor Benton’s never kissed a man before?” one of the other students snickered. “Not all of us are like that.”

“I _meant_ that he wasn’t the type to go around ducking in cupboards as a lad… but sure, you can add that into the mix if you want.”

He then continued to lecture the class on the finer points of swordplay, using Tara as his willing test subject, until the bell rung to signal that not only class was over, but the school day was as well. The class filtered inside to meet other students and gather up their things. Tara was quick to put on her jacket and meet her girlfriend by her locker.

“So, we going to your place or mine?” she asked. It was the start of the weekend, and that usually meant flitting between each other’s houses.

“Mum’s at home right now, but Dad’s definitely going to be there later tonight,” Petra said. “The way they’ve been going at it, it’s almost like they’re trying for another kid.”

“How about mine then? Can get some privacy there no problem.”

“You two are going to get on the wrong side of the Doctors one of these days,” Petra’s locker partner admonished as she dived between them to grab at her coat. “Tara, that’s _their_ home you’re living in—I don’t care how far back your dad goes with the marquisate—you could get in serious trouble.”

“I’ve made sure to talk to the Marquis and Marchioness about any ground rules; we should be fine,” Tara assured. Any way to separate the march and earldom’s sovereign rulers from her parents, the better. “We’re lucky to live where we do, and I wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything.”

“Alright, as long as you’re not being _too_ reckless,” their classmate said. “Hey, Ben and I are going out dancing tomorrow night—do you two want to come?”

“We’ll have to see; don’t count us in or out,” Petra said with a grin.

Once she got the information from her locker partner the three girls dispersed, with Petra and Tara going arm-in-arm over to the former’s house. They dodged Mrs. Sutton, who seemed highly insistent that Tara stay for dinner, and was at least able to get some tea in them before the girls ran off towards Castle Gallifrey.

Going through the servants’ entrance, Tara brought Petra up to her family’s private quarters stealthily. They threw Petra’s overnight bag underneath Tara’s bed and went into the study to get their homework done for the weekend. There they found Sterling, Astra, and Lena, the three going over their coursework while a maid set down tea.

“Maggie with Ori today?” Petra wondered as she sat down. It always made her feel a bit odd to refer to nobility so familiarly, though it was something that she didn’t want to take for granted.

“They’re helping Seren right now, actually,” Astra replied, rolling her eyes. “Apparently he needs to put on a puppet show and they volunteered to pitch in.”

“He _needs_ to or he _wants_ to?” Lena deadpanned. The maid then came back with the extra serving sets to accommodate Tara and Petra, immediately leaving to let the kids get to work.

Hours passed and the gong rung to signal the half-hour-before-dinner mark. Homework was immediately put down and everyone dispersed to wash up before eating. The Academy students changed clothes as well, slipping out of their uniform breeches and into nice dresses. Petra had to borrow one of Tara’s, along with a pair of heels to make up for the extra skirt length. Dinner itself ended up being very low-key (“How are your parents, Miss Sutton?” and “I’m hearing excellent progress about you two in the Officers’ Program,” and “Not now starlet, your puppet show will come later,”) and it was only after Seren’s thrilling performance of _The Tale of Fintan the Clever_ was everyone allowed to go their own separate ways.

Using showing Petra around the castle as an excuse, Tara took her girlfriend by the hand and led her down one of the seldom-used corridors that contained a false wall and a secret passage. They lit the torch in the sconce on the wall and traveled down the staircase, fingers entwined as they padded down the cold stone.

“Shouldn’t these be reserved as something more of an emergency exit?” Petra asked, looking all around the passageway. Though the stone was dry beneath their feet, there was still some moisture seeping ominously from the walls. “I’d think the more people who know about this place, the less secure it is.”

“There’s a very short list of people who could know about these tunnels, some of them being guards, so Mama and Papa aren’t all that worried,” Tara said. They went into an antechamber—a former guards post complete with a bed—and she placed the torch in the correct sconce before glancing back at Petra. “Stars, you look good in my clothes.”

“It’s a bit tight though,” Petra frowned, attempting to stretch without popping a seam. “You don’t _look_ that much skinnier than me—it’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Tara smirked. She bent forward and pressed their lips together, chuckling into the kiss. “We’re having the most fun in our lives and it’s all going to end after the Violet Sky.”

“Don’t jinx it—Dad’s been recalled early before.” Petra left soft kisses along Tara’s jaw and down her neck while she felt her girlfriend begin to fumble with the lacing along the back of her dress. Her kisses were barely there at risk of leaving marks; although the Marquis and Marchioness found no qualms over their relationship, they still had to be careful in case Tara needed to attend court for whatever reason. Bruises gained in sparring were easily explained away, though not all marks were as simple as that.

Later on, the teens trudged back to Tara’s bedchamber feeling relaxed while they meandered down the corridors. They dressed in their night things, trading a lazy kiss here or a slight touch there, and sat down for evening tea, cuddling into one another on the couch. Astra came in unannounced, taking in the display with an exasperated sigh.

“You two are gross,” she exhaled, sitting down in an armchair. “Is it _really_ necessary to be hanging all over each other, or is that what’s popular to do in the Academy?”

“It’s popular, _period_ ,” Petra laughed. “Wait until you find someone to spend time with that’s not family—you’re absolutely going to _love_ it.”

“Yeah; I don’t want to hear it when you finally get a beau and something, something, something, it’s different for you.”

“My lips are sealed,” Astra said while swiping a biscuit.

The three stayed up talking for a while yet, until Astra decided it was time for her to turn in. She left and Tara lifted the sleepy Petra in her arms, placing her down in the bed, snuggling up behind her. Putting her arms around her girlfriend’s middle, she kissed the back of her neck and murmured in the ceremonial tongue.

“ _I will find the moon in my sky one day, but for now my sky is just as bright with you in it_.”

“You said something terribly romantic just now, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” She hummed happily, grateful for the time they had together. “Still thinking about going dancing tomorrow?”

“There are worse things we could do.”

“Then let’s do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Although both Petra and Tara are 16, and therefore legal adults when it comes to certain things within the setting, that's as far as I'm writing them kissing and cuddling 'cause they're still just kids.


	23. Wound Dressing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Stars in the Sky AU, when they have fewer offspring, Johan returns from battle battered and bloodied and ready to keel over, but goes straight to his chambers so Clara can remove his armour and dress his wounds.
> 
> Originally posted: 10 April 2016
> 
> Notes: 1856 words; takes place when Johan is fifty-four, Clara is thirty-five, Lena is four, and Astra and Tara are two; a more detailed version of chapter nine of the prompt fills, though with more hurt/comfort and less starlet-making; does not take place in Castle Gallifrey because the frontiers are miles and miles away from the city, making the ride way too long for someone battle-weary and still in armor

The skirmishes with the Allfather’s minions had been going on for far too long, the Marquis thought as he surveyed the damage done to his troops. They were tired, as was he, after what had ended up being a drawn-out and aggravating battle. It was true that the soldiers used the word dalek to mean something momentary, yet when the only thing that was momentary was the amount of time a Daleki soldier needed to be replaced, and the forces matched that… it was a mystery how the Allfather kept up his troop count.

It was always the dead that haunted him, however, when he would go through whichever border encampment it was that was the lucky epicenter of destruction. The Marquis came down from his horse, despite his advisors’ protests, and looked at their lifeless forms. He shed tears for them—silent ones that went down his cheeks and dripped into his whiskers and further on into the mud—feeling both guilty and thankful that his corpse was not amongst them. Maybe still, one day, but for now he had daughters to raise and a wife to love. With the amount of casualties, there was bound to be a new widow somewhere within the march and a child forever missing a parent, yet his family was lucky yet again. He would pen and sign the death letters for all of them, though later, after things were not quite as weary.

Too tired to mount his horse again, the Marquis walked the rest of the way to his tent. It was spacious, a definite step up from the common soldiers’ double-sleepers, sitting on planks of wood and with worn rugs and animal skins piled on the floor. He sank to a chair in the corner near the fire pit, letting the warmth from the flames wash over him. No one could say he didn’t deserve this, to rest away his aches and pains while he let others do their jobs, and he took advantage of the fact. He closed his eyes and exhaled contently—they were safe again.

“Johan?”

The Marquis jolted awake at the sound of his wife’s voice. He glanced towards the tent’s opening and blinked; there she was, standing there staring at him in concern, a physician at her side.

“Clara,” he said. Although he sounded fine to his own ears, the sound of his voice must have been awful, for his wife rushed to his side, kneeling down beside him and holding his face in her hands. The physician, the one who was being courted by their advisor Daniel, had a box of supplies with her that she left next to the Marchioness before exiting the tent. “Where is Martha going?”

“Back to the surgery tent, most likely,” she replied quietly. “I came as soon as I heard how awful it was over here…”

“Where are the girls?”

“With Daniel, don’t worry. Stars… how long have you been sitting here?”

“Only a moment.”

“Liar; now let’s get you out of this and into some fresh clothes.”

“As my Doctor commands.”

The Marchioness went back to the tent entrance and told the guards waiting outside they were not to be disturbed; she couldn’t pronounce the word to seal the insides off from the world yet, so it was the closest she could manage. When she returned to her husband’s side, she found that he had shifted so that she could better utilize the light. She unclasped his cloak, letting the fabric fall around him, and carefully began to work on his armor.

“You should have stayed home with our stars,” he protested weakly. “What if there’s another attack? A follow-up now that we’re weak?”

“Then the able-bodied shall rally around their liege lady while her children sleep contently in the nursery,” she replied. Breastplate, shoulder guards, gauntlets, greaves… they all came off one by one, revealing how stiff their owner felt. The Marquis hissed in pain as his wife inspected some of the darker spots of clothes, where blood had soaked in and dried and plastered the fabric to his wounds.

“That hurts, Clara,” he whined, cursing in the ceremonial tongue. She tugged his jacket off, then his shirt, revealing the cuts and bruises all over his thin frame.

“No wonder it hurts, you idiot,” she scolded softly. “This is three days of war catching up to you all at once.” He leaned forward and buried his nose in her hair, the scent of lilies still there if he closed his eyes. The Marchioness eased him back, worry creasing her brow. “Not now—let’s get you clean first.”

He nodded and she continued her work. She fetched water from the pitcher near the bed, washing away the dried blood before digging the medicine out of the physician’s box. Salves came out and were rubbed into his skin and wounds; painful, yes, but soothing all the same. She unrolled bandages and wrapped him up in them, careful to only use what was necessary. Each tied-off bandage was left with a kiss

Now it was his belt’s turn, sliding out from their place around his waist. His boots had to be pried off with great effort, and his socks and trousers and pants gently peeled off until he was sitting there naked before her. She continued to wash and dress his wounds, tutting at the extent of his injuries.

“Forget natural aging,” she said. “There better not be too many of these battles you have to endure, or you will have no choice but to sit on the governance chair while I man the front instead. This is dreadful.”

“This is what I do to keep my people safe,” he replied hazily. “Not the haughty and lofty—they can be eaten by the deepest depths of the earth for all I care—but the smallfolk… the ones who lay down their lives and look to us, because we would do the same for them.”

“I know, Johan,” she crooned, cradling his head in her hands. She wiped the sweat from his brow and kissed it tenderly. “I know because I too am the Doctor, and we save people.”

He gave her a wan smile before collapsing into her shoulder out of exhaustion. It took an effort, but she dragged him over to the bed and placed him in, making sure he was snug within the bedding before heading over to the tent entrance. The sky was red and the guards had changed; when she had gone in earlier, there had not even been a hint of violet in the sky.

“I’m sorry, but can I please have some food? Something for me now and something that can sit while His Lordship rests and is ready for him when he wakes.”

“Of course, milady,” one of the guards said. He bowed and then walked away, leaving his second alone.

“Not many of us are lucky enough to have our own personal nursemaid,” the remaining guard chuckled. “I’m glad you came, milady—His Lordship wouldn’t have even accepted care without the injury being severe had this been ten years ago.”

“He would have done the same for me, in a heartbeat.” The Marchioness glanced at the soldier, glad for her presence. “Are you married, Sargent?”

“Yes, ma’am; my husband works on the castle grounds doing this thing and that. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. It takes much to be married to a member of the Border Forces, nearly as much as it takes to be one of the soldiers themselves. I wish there was a day when we didn’t have to deploy people here—my time, as well as yours, is much better served elsewhere.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, but you and His Lordship are the ones who shouldn’t have to come out here all the time,” the soldier said. “How the two of you balance the running of Kasterborous, defending her, keeping peace with other higher-ups within the kingdom… it’s a mystery.”

“Let me just say it is an honor to be your Doctor, and that’s all I need,” the Marchioness said. The other guard had now returned, carrying a plate with fruits and cheeses and warm, fresh bread that accompanied a small bowl of stew. He placed it down on the thick oaken table and gave her privacy. She ate the stew slowly, for it was nearly scalding.

The Marchioness was nearly halfway done when she heard a weak “Clara” coming from the bed. Her husband was attempting to sit up, which made her abandon her dinner to push him back down.

“ _Rest_ ,” she insisted, “or the girls won’t get to ride on Papa’s shoulders anymore.”

“Papa will always give his starlets rides as long as they ask for them,” he protested. He watched as his wife walked over to the table and came back, sitting down on the bed next to him with a bowl and some bread. “What’s that?”

“Stew—now open up,” she said. The Marchioness broke off a piece of the bread and soaked it in the thick broth, popping the morsel in the Marquis’s mouth. As she continued feeding him, he gingerly took hold of one of her hands, keeping it close to his chest, as if to say: “This is the hole where my second heart should be, except my second heart now is you.” By the time the bread was gone, he was nearly back to sleep again, stomach full and content.

“Lay with me,” he requested. She nodded, kissed the tip of his nose, and returned the bowl to the table before telling the guards they were going to sleep and shouldn’t be disturbed save an emergency. With orders understood, she walked back to her husband’s bedside, giving him an amused smirk. “What…?”

“If you weren’t falling apart at the seams, I’d take you as-is,” she purred. The Marchioness then made a show of unlacing the front of her dress. She grinned as her husband watched on, helpless as he was too sore to move. “Remind me to have you in charge of the girls for an entire day soon—it might have the same effect.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gulped. He saw as she slipped out of her dress and underthings, letting them drop to her feet, and she pulled back the blankets long enough to lay down next to him and hold him in her arms.

“Let’s lay properly when you feel better,” she offered, running her fingers over her handiwork. The bandages were securely in place, not a strip out of alignment. “It’s not every day we don’t have the threat of someone crawling into bed with us and I’d like to take advantage of that.”

“The wee things simply want the comfort of their mama’s care—like father, like daughters,” he joked. The Marquis kissed her lazily, his whiskers tickling as they wandered about as far as his lips could reach. He fell asleep with his forehead pressed to the Marchioness’s chest, drifting off happily as she stroked his hair and hummed a gentle tune, letting him know she was there.


	24. An Empty Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: randomthunk
> 
> Prompt: Marquis and Marchioness, something with the Marquis being really on the ball with his romance game, but you can interpret that how you want.
> 
> Originally posted: 25 April 2016
> 
> Notes: rough ages are as follows: Johan at a very robust 70 (lol Ancient Gallifreyan genetics), Daniel at 53, Clara at 51, Martha at 48, Lena at 20, Astra at 18, Sterling at 14, Maglina and Oriana at 12, and Seren at 7

As he mentally analyzed the schedule for the next couple of days, the Marquis decided he was going to be in a rather interesting situation. Lena and Astra were leaving the following day to spend time at the capital—the former attending meetings in his stead and the latter sitting exams at the Royal University—while the younger children were about to embark on an adventure of their own, accompanying their tutor to his barony for a month. Those things combined, along with the fact Tara would only be free to head home from the border at the end of the year, meant that he was being presented with a particularly rare opportunity.

He and his wife were going to have Castle Gallifrey to themselves for a few weeks.

The last time they had the family’s private wing belonging to only them for more than a night or two was before Lena was born. Aside from the times they would let the Baron take his charges to camp underneath the red starlight or make a blanket fort in his sitting room, there were always children running about, threatening to walk in at the most inopportune moments. He adjusted himself carefully, making sure to not disturb his wife. Although it had been a long day and she was sleeping soundly, he did not wish to risk upsetting her and disturbing her rest. He gently pulled her closer, which caused her to press her forehead against his chest.

Yes, they were going to make excellent use of the time ahead of them. It was merely a matter of preparation. The Marquis stroked his wife’s hair, kissing the top of her head as she slumbered on.

* * *

“…but Mama… I don’t want to go…” Seren whined into her skirts. The family was out in the yard by the stables, attempting to pack up the carriage with both the children and their things. Sterling had obediently obeyed Oriana and Maglina when it came to going along, yet the youngest child was the one who was having some trouble.

“You’ve been to Coal-on-the-Hill before,” the Baron reasoned. He was squatting down next to the seven-year-old to be at eye-level, attempting to coax him aboard. “I remember you particularly liked it there.”

“…but I’ll be away from Mama,” the boy frowned.

“Then what about all the times I’ve left you at home, or you’ve gone with your father and siblings places?” the Marchioness asked. “You’re not being very fair to Sir Daniel and Lady Martha.”

Seren whimpered pathetically, leaving the adults to stand there, not knowing what to do, until the Baroness had an idea. She scooped him up and tickled him, making him screech and flail about.

“Lady Martha! Stop! Please!”

“Only if you get in the carriage with your brother and sister!”

“But I don’t want to!”

“Then more tickles!”

“Okay! Okay! I’ll go! I’ll go!” he shouted. The Baroness put him down and Seren slunk over to the carriage. Before getting in, he ran back to his mother for one final hug, and ran so fast he leapt into the vehicle easily.

“Martha, Daniel, thank you so much for taking them,” the Marchioness said.

“Hey, you need some time alone too,” the Baron replied. “If he gets a bit out of hand, I can threaten him with extra homework.”

“That will terrify the boy right out of his trousers,” the Marquis laughed. “Again, thank you.”

Once goodbyes were said and wishes given well, the carriage left the castle grounds and the Marquis and Marchioness found themselves alone. There were, of course, grooms and horses milling about, along with a couple hounds, but there were no _children_ , and that was the odd part.

“Milady,” he said, offering his arm.

“Milord,” she grinned, taking the courtesy. They began the walk back to their office, where they were to continue the remainder of the work day. “The girls off this morning, now the little ones… it’s difficult to believe that we’ve got an empty nest.”

“Our owlets are not so far, nor are they all so little anymore,” he replied. He placed his hand over the one she had on his arm to steady himself. “Sterling is fourteen and love-struck; it won’t be long now before _Seren_ is of-age.”

“At least one of his siblings should have _a_ child by then, so I’m not worried,” she said idly. They walked through the castle and reached the office without a problem, where there were all sorts of papers waiting for them, begging to be finished. “We will have little ones to dote on again, I know it.”

“…which is why we have to make use of what time we have.” The Marquis let go of his wife and bent down to murmur in her ear. “You don’t want to have a grandstarlet walk in on Grandmamma and Grandpapa, do you?” He then pushed a lock of her greying hair back behind her ear, kissing her neck tenderly.

“Save it for later, Grandpapa,” the Marchioness giggled, gently pushing her husband away. “Grandmamma has ordinances to review before they go up for renewal next week.”

“I really did have the best of luck when it came to you,” he said, exhaling happily. The two sat down at their respective desks, giving one another flirty glances across the room. This would be the start of a very special few weeks, they both could tell.

* * *

Morning broke and violet sunlight washed over the bedchamber, awaking the occupants with a gentle reminder that the day must start anew. They shifted beneath the bedding, making it so that they were in one another’s arms and kissing lazily.

“Good morning,” the Marchioness hummed against the Marquis’s mouth. She pulled back and pecked the tip of his nose. “Did you sleep well?”

“You wore me out enough to sleep for two days straight,” he replied. Rolling over, he positioned himself above his wife, trailing kisses down her throat and chest, with his whiskers tickling her breasts. “We have the morning off—would you like to continue where we left off?”

“Don’t the maids have chores to do in here?”

“I locked the door, and I know for a fact they have other chores to do that don’t involve our things.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right,” she mused. The Marchioness began mentally reviewing the maids’ duties from the last time they reviewed the job with the Head of House, only to be reminded that her husband was still in action when she felt his whiskers flit across her navel. “Johan, up here.”

“Am I not allowed to show my lovely wife affection across her entire body? To show her that time has not changed my devotion towards her?”

“Devotion goes up here today,” she said, circling her face with a pointer finger. The Marquis bared his teeth in a grin and dove in for a kiss, moaning in pleasure as his wife grabbed his hair and cupped him low on his body.

“You look so lovely in the sunrise,” he murmured huskily in her ear. “A vision of perfection, bathed in harmonious violet hues—how anyone can gaze upon you and see anything less than beauty of the highest form is beyond my comprehension.”

“How poetic,” she purred. “My love is a well-spoken one, that’s for certain.”

“Now I wonder who that could be?” he chuckled. “I didn’t know you were keeping a paramour without my knowledge. Does he treat you well?”

“Only the best for me; I am a woman with needs, after all.” She gazed into his pale eyes, framed by his rumpled curls and bushy brows, and fell in love all over again. “I think you would approve of him. He is a caring man, who is good with the children and only has eyes for me.”

“Then I hope he is a good man.”

“He _is_ a good man, and always has been.”

The Marquis blinked tears out of his eyes, letting them drip down onto the Marchioness’s cheeks before kissing them off and continuing their lovely morning, making his wife gasp and tremble in pure bliss.

* * *

“Ugh, I cannot _wait_ until I can get in a good soak and wash the road off,” Lena groused. She and Astra were traveling back to Gallifrey, ahead of schedule due to the younger sister’s exams needing to be split up at the last moment, leaving an extra month and a half for studying. Since neither were about to sit around in the capital for that long, they had packed up their horses and began the trip north.

“We should probably report to Mama and Papa first, just to make sure they know we’re home,” Astra mentioned. “They weren’t expecting us back for at least a week, after all.”

“I never said I was going _straight_ to the bath, simply that I _need_ one,” Lena frowned. “How Tara handles the lack of proper bathing facilities while deployed, I’m not sure, not to mention envious.”

“As long as she doesn’t stink like a corpse, I think no one cares,” Astra joked.

The sisters continued their journey home, making it back to the castle stables after midday. They dropped off their horses and arranged for their bags to be taken to their rooms. The sisters wandered about Castle Gallifrey in an attempt to find their parents, only to make a disturbing discovery.

There, in plain daylight, the Marquis and Marchioness were relaxing in the family’s private study, cuddled together on the settee. It was not so much the snuggling that was occurring, as was their mother stroking the front of their father’s trousers, and the way their father was holding their mother’s rear, that made the sisters immediately back out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“We didn’t see that, did we?” Astra asked.

“See what?” Lena answered. They nodded at one another in solidarity and made for their own rooms. “How Mama and Papa had _six_ of us, I have no idea.”

“I have an idea, but how none of us have walked in on them is the question that needs answering.”


	25. Security Meetings and Certification Exams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: jrrussell1018
> 
> Prompt: I want the meeting that L had to attend in the capital with the king for Johann (because I do love take no shit, impress the hell out of the king Lena) and what happened with A's tests. So basically what happened with their trip before catching their parents in their romantic embrace.
> 
> Originally posted: 30 April 2016
> 
> Notes: 2271 words; features Lena at twenty and Astra at eighteen; this is based off of the previous chapter, Prompt 24, with references to Prompt 15, and takes place before Chapter 22 in the main story

Looking herself over in the mirror, Lena made sure that not a hair was out of place. She was dressed smartly, with military honors adorning her jacket and a belt on her waist holding a ceremonial pistol and sword. It would have seemed silly to most other ladies to wear war finery with a dress and heels, though her parents and tutor made sure she was not most other ladies, and that even in her skirts she could command an army.

Unfortunately for her the frontier wasn’t her destination today. Instead it would be the King’s palace, for she was in the capital taking her father’s place at a security conference. The Marquis had insisted that his eldest and heir attend in his stead, for she was assuming more responsibility within the March and Earldom now that she was of-age. While sitting in on a room full of petty arguments wasn’t her idea of fun, considering she had done so the year before, Lena was going to take the charge, for it was at least more interesting than sitting alone doing nothing.

Once her appearance was to her satisfaction, Lena walked out of her room and down the corridor to peek in on her sister, Astra, who was pouring over texts despite it being fairly early in the morning. Luckily for them, the meeting had lined up with her certification exams, all of which were required to sit in person.

“Are you ready yet?” Lena wondered. “I’m headed out and I thought we could ride together.”

“I already planned on walking, sorry,” Astra replied, thumbing through one of her books. “That’s the only way I’m going to clear my head and calm down at this rate. This is driving me _insane_.”

“You’ll do _fine_ ,” Lena assured. She entered the room and bent down to hug her sister around the shoulders. “Not all of us are meant for the University, let alone certification in any field, but you’re such a talent I have no doubt you’ll make it.”

“Thanks.” Astra returned the hug and waited until Lena was out of the room before sinking down in her chair, hoarsely whispering a prayer in the ceremonial tongue. She felt so nervous she could vomit. That wasn’t an option, however, as she needed to make her way down to the testing hall within the half-hour.

* * *

After thanking the footman who helped her from the carriage, Lena entered the King’s palace and began to navigate her way through the halls to her conference. She soon found herself sitting in a meeting room with other individuals whose ancestral homes were of vital strategic importance in both internal and international security. Thankfully, the Earl of Braxos was seated next to her, which made the young woman relieved at the company.

“Psi, I very well could scream,” Lena muttered lowly, leaning slightly towards her neighbor. An argument had control over the meeting, leaving those uninvolved with little to do. The earl chuckled, attempting to not let his amusement show.

“Give them time, Lena,” he replied. “Once their soldiers return and talk of your leadership in the field and in Gallifrey, they might change their tune.”

“I don’t have until Netta is presented at court,” she snarked. Although the earl did not enjoy thinking about the day when his nine-year-old would be fully considered a woman in the eyes of society, the idea that she would change so drastically before their peers changed so little was frighteningly accurate.

“Enough,” the king said, cutting off all conversation with his voice. He glared in the direction of the dispute and pointed. “The two of you need to confer privately after luncheon and return to the council when you have worked out what it is that needs clarification. Right now I’d like to keep this meeting moving.” He glanced down at his notes to see what was next on the agenda for the morning session. “Earlessa Gallifrey; how are the support troops doing that we promised you last year?”

“Doing well, Your Highness,” she replied. “We had a couple casualties during the adjustment period, though most have been due to illness and accidental injury rather than death. I will be honest and admit I expected more loss of life than the two we unfortunately suffered.”

“You have lost more than two men,” one of the lords scoffed. “There’s at least five dead in battle from my troops alone. How do you explain that?”

“…by saying that those were _battle casualties_ , while I am still going over the adjustment period,” she explained sourly. Lena had one of the servants pass around some figures she wrote up, making sure everyone had a copy. “The adjustment period is the same for everyone, whether they are Kasterborsian or not, and there are some well-trained Academy Cadets trained in Gallifrey herself that cannot handle the front once they arrive.”

“Were the deaths due to disease?” the king wondered. “The numbers don’t say.”

“Both deaths were due to a combination of hypothermia and a distinct lack of precaution when dealing with our winters. They were southern men and either misunderstood or completely ignored the warnings given before going out on patrol, considering we found that the extra clothing issued to them upon their arrival was unpacked.”

“That sounds unfortunate indeed,” the king nodded. “Battle casualties seem fairly low as well.”

“Raids have been down since we began supplanting the Border Forces with the support troops, both events I consider to be related. If we keep on this path, I feel as though we might be able to achieve the peacetime levels of the Second, or even Sixth, Doctor’s time. Obviously that is only for the Daleki front, but the Cyberans are likely to consider the fortifications enough to back down.” Lena felt proud of herself as the rest of the committee nodded in what was mostly reluctance, though it had the king terribly pleased.

“Good! Good!” he beamed. “I knew we could count on you. Now, to the next subject…”

* * *

Astra fidgeted as she stood in the queue, waiting for her turn to receive the exam papers. She was in a large hall where over a hundred accounting students were able to sit at individual tables to do their work. While anyone handy with numbers could balance books in the average town or business after some on-the-job training, University certification meant that they were open to working in noble courts, which was precisely the young woman’s goal.

Soon she reached the front of the line and she nearly lost her voice at the sight of the proctor. “Astra Maylis Smith…? I took the courses by correspondence.”

The woman at the table looked her over before chuckling. “Ah, no wonder you were one of the correspondence students; what was your course instructor’s name?”

“Daniel Pink.”

“I think I do have you… yes, here it is,” the woman said. She plucked a thick envelope out of the box next to her and handed it to Astra. “Take a seat—everything you will need is provided at the table.”

“Thank you.” With that, Astra took the envelope and rushed to find a decent spot. She sat with her hands in her lap and the packet in front of her on the table in an attempt to not panic. Taking a quick look around, she observed that the other people sitting the exams were much older than her—at least by five years—and it made her sink slightly in her seat.

Once all the packets were distributed and the students seated, the proctor called the first wave of the exams having officially begun. Astra opened her envelope and took out the papers, glancing over them quickly to see what she should work on first. Everything seemed fairly simple, so she grabbed a pencil from the ones left for her and began her calculations.

Time passed and Astra became increasingly confident as she went through the problems. She was on the final page when the proctor stood from her seat and cleared her throat.

“Writing utensils _down_ ,” she said, projecting her voice across the room. Astra put down the pen she was marking her permanent answer with and looked up, seeing that not only did the proctor seem not pleased, but someone else was standing beside her with the same expression on his face. “It seems as though a copy of the exams have been leaked prior to today. We have only know been made known of this fact, as it was discovered that an entire box of this year’s exams was taken from Archives, and it involves multiple subjects, not just ours. An inquiry will be made, and afterwards a new exam will be written for everyone to sit.”

The proctor scanned the crowd before her, attempting to catch any hint of guilt. “In the meantime, anyone who requires extended accommodations should sign up with my colleague here. Leave your papers on the tables and I should expect your new exam should be ready in about six weeks.”

Muttering lowly, Astra cursed in the ceremonial tongue—six weeks was _not_ good, for that was when the National Ball was scheduled, and that was something she could not miss even if she tried. Quickly, she grabbed her personal bag and went up to the proctor, her brown eyes wide and terrified.

“Ma’am? Can I please speak with you for a moment?”

“What’s the matter? You look like you’re about to cry.” The proctor pulled Astra aside into a corner in concern. “This isn’t the worst thing to happen during an exam, child.”

“I know, it’s just that, if the new exam is going to be in six weeks, then I have to request that I schedule to take them at another time.”

“Everyone sits the exams at once,” the proctor said gently. “What possibly could want you to attempt to move an immovable appointment?” Astra tried her best, but everything began to pour out of her mouth at once.

“Six weeks is then the National Ball is, which isn’t _one_ ball after formal presentation to the King and Queen, but a series of them that are _required_ , and I know because I _checked_ , and I don’t want to go to any of them, except I have to in order to officially be my elder sister’s heir. She’s the Earlessa of Gallifrey, you see, and when she takes over the governance of Kasterborous from our parents, there’s a good chance she won’t be married since there are so few highborn men to her tastes, and if she _never_ marries, that means that I’m next in line for the governance chair, and my children after that, and I _need_ a society marriage if my children have any chance to properly inherit and not get ousted by the other lords of the land who want only male heirs. This doesn’t even _mention_ the fact that the only reason I’m sitting this exam is so that I can work for my sister in an official capacity despite the fact that she’s twenty and I’m only eighteen and although I don’t expect to do much as far as marriage or taking over the march’s accounts anytime soon, the sooner I get this certification the better and…”

Unable to go on, Astra bit her bottom lip as she fought back the tears that were streaming down her face. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to make you postpone the exams for everyone, and if I have to I’ll wait until next year’s exams.”

“Wait a second, your sister is the Earlessa of Gallifrey…?” the proctor interrupted. Astra nodded in reply. “Who was your course instructor again?”

“Lord Rupert Daniel Pink, Baron Coal-on-the-Hill,” the teen said softly. She felt extremely self-conscious for crying at the proctor, although she was surprised when the woman patted her on the shoulder in sympathy.

“My husband is from Gallifrey, so I know all about your situation,” she said. “I will talk with the department head in a short while; can you come to his office after the lunch hour so we can discuss the matter?”

“Oh thank gods,” Astra breathed. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and laughed nervously. “I’ll come back right after lunch, I promise. Thank you!”

“Now go; after lunch.”

Astra had never been so relieved to be shooed out of a room in her whole life.

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Astra returned to the family’s townhouse, happily carrying the paperwork for her special exam session in her bag. The extra lift in her step was nearly making her skip though the house, humming cheerily while she looked around for her sister.

“Ah, there you are!” she said upon discovering Lena in the lounge. Her sister was stretched out across the settee, a cloth over her eyes and a scowl on her lips. “Was it that bad?”

“Psi is our eternal champion, I swear on the earth covering Grandmama Elena,” Lena growled. “Apparently, even with His Majesty’s approval _and_ positive statistics, I still should be ashamed of how unattractive I am to suitors.” She peeked out from underneath the cloth and stared at her sister. “Exams go well?”

“It’s rescheduled for around the time the National Ball takes place, but I have special permission for a private exam session if the two end up overlapping,” she explained. “I nearly finished this exam and it was fairly easy.”

“At least that’s a positive,” Lena mumbled. She replaced the cloth and listened to Astra rattle on about her day, feeling a bit better with her there.


	26. Chatting ABout the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: jrrussell1018
> 
> Prompt: Also the younger starlets trip to Coal on Hill with Danny and Martha. I can see D and M needing a vacation after that! If it's all a bit silly that would make it even better. (Not 'ridiculous not fit the story silly' of course, but just some good kiddo fun and funnies)
> 
> Originally posted: 16 May 2016
> 
> Notes: 1807 words; not so much antics as it is talking and character development, which I probably shouldn't do in the side-stores, but hey it's happening; something to note is this prompt contains very close sibling and sibling-like behavior, which I have experienced first-hand, so pls remember that these are children; younger brothers are the ultimate space heaters-everyone knows that; holy crap the older three are on the precipice of puberty this isn't good

Rain steadily fell as the occupants of the room kept working. The Baron still had duties to perform, hearing the complaints of his people and attempting to sort out the local troubles, so he had left his daughter and charges with their coursework as he and the Baroness tended to their oft-ignored work.

“Hey Maggie? I think I know what I want to do when I grow up,” Oriana said idly as she went through her mathematics.

“I thought you were going to be Baroness Coal-on-the-Hill after Sir Daniel wants to retire,” her best friend said.

“Yeah, but, I won’t govern Coal-on-the-Hill possibly for a long time, and there’s less things to worry about than what Lena has to deal with,” she replied. Oriana put her pencil down and looked at Maglina, who was ready for an explanation. “Dad doesn’t have lesser lords to keep in line, and there are no soldiers to hold at the border. There’s _plenty_ that has to be done, and I know it’s not an easy job, but the only reason I don’t live here all the time is that there are breaks in when things happen and I don’t want to be bored during them.”

“Oh, well that’s fair enough,” Maglina nodded. She leaned in excitedly. “So? What _do_ you want to do?”

“I want to be a teacher, like Dad,” Oriana replied, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “I don’t know if I’ll teach Lena’s children, or the ones who live by Hill House, or where I’ll end up, but Dad and I talked about it and he says he can make sure I get the right training for it. What do you think?”

“I think that’ll be _lovely_!” Maglina grinned. She glanced over Oriana’s shoulder towards her older brother, who was sitting in the nook in the wall by the window with a sketchbook. “Did you hear that, Sterling? What do you think about Ori becoming a teacher?”

“Whatever she does, I’m sure she’ll be excellent at it,” he replied. The young teen kept on sketching, having finished all of his coursework long ago. He worked on a corner of the table until Oriana looked back down at her book, returning to the position from before. Truthfully he was drawing the room, getting in as much practice as possible, but it really was an excuse to stare at the unknowing recipient of his affections without feeling like he was being _too_ pushy.

“Well _I think_ that Ori being a teacher would be sad,” Seren added. His corner of the room was the one Sterling hadn’t even attempted to sketch yet, as the boy was too active as he read his book. He rolled in his blanket-cocoon around the floor as he continued reading. “I think she should ride around on her horse, vanquishing bad guys! That’s much more interesting.”

“I’m good at riding, but I’m not _that good_ at the sword,” Oriana said through a giggle. “Besides, I want to be helping people, and being a teacher is definitely helping people.”

“It’s still so _boring_ ,” Seren protested. “You can help people by doing _exciting things_ too.”

“Sometimes it’s not about what’s exciting, but what is right and needs to be done,” Sterling interrupted. He changed pages on the sketchpad and continued on, starting first on Oriana’s face as she and Maglina shared a laugh at the youngest sibling’s expense. “Sir Daniel could have decided that he was going to keep being a soldier after returning from Cybera, or even never going to work properly ever again, but now he’s only ever a member of the Border Forces as a consultant at best and he teaches all of us as his permanent job.”

“Why _does_ he teach us though?” Seren wondered. “Why _us_?”

“He was very good friends with Mama long before she married Papa, and when he came back and learned that Lena was coming, he knew that Mama and Papa’s heir would need a very smart and understanding tutor. I don’t think there are very many tutors who’d be willing to teach our sisters the same way he does.”

“Why?” Seren asked.

“Because highborn ladies aren’t supposed to be able to kick butt and govern their lands, at least, according to some people,” Maglina said. “That’s why some people don’t like Lena or Astra, and they _really_ don’t like Tara.”

“That’s dumb,” Seren said. “They never had Tara throw them in the block bin, so what do they know?”

“Very little,” Sterling laughed. The door then opened and the Baron entered the room.

“What’s so funny?” he wondered. “Getting all your work done?”

“Yes, Dad!” Oriana replied cheerily. “We were talking about me being a teacher!”

“Were you now?” he chuckled. “Does everyone else know what they want to do yet, or are they still deciding?”

“Is it okay if we’re still deciding?” Maglina asked, slightly nervous.

“It’s _perfectly_ okay,” the Baron assured her. He patted her on the head affectionately, making her giggle. “I wouldn’t expect you to know for sure for at least a couple years yet—Oriana just knew early.”

“Well _I know_ what _I_ want to be!” Seren declared. “ _I want_ to be Grandpapa’s heir! Mama says he needs one, and I might be it!”

“Well then, _Future Lord Blackpoole_ , tell me what the book you’re reading is about; your assignment was a summary and with the speed you read, you should be writing by now.” The Baron sighed inwardly as the youngest in the room rolled around in protest—of course he wasn’t ready.

* * *

It was late that night, when the rain had given way to storms, and the children were attempting to fall asleep. Sterling was laying in bed, hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. His brother shuffled over from the other side of the bed, curling into his side.

“Sterling?”

“Hmm…?”

“Do you think anything’s going to happen like when I was a baby?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone says that Papa’s uncle tried to take the march when I was very little, but he failed. Can something like that happen again?”

Sterling shifted so that he was on his side, hugging his brother protectively. “Even if it does, I doubt Lena will stand for it. Papa’s Grandpapa’s brother and all his issue have been banished from the march and the entire kingdom has warnings out because of their behavior. Plenty of people have tried to make sure Lena doesn’t inherit one way or another, and none of them have succeeded. How come?”

“I’m scared, that’s all,” Seren admitted. “Maggie said that people don’t like Lena being the heir. What would have happened if we got kicked out of Gallifrey?”

“We’d probably go live with Grandpapa while Lena and our parents fight to return,” the elder brother shrugged. “Grandpapa loves having us over and if it gets too much for Lady Linda that she starts threatening, I’m sure we could come here.”

“…where we have to share beds and there’s no nursery?”

“We share beds and don’t use the nursery to make it easier on the maids—they don’t have enough staff at Hill House to take care of three extra rooms for a short amount of time.” He thought for a moment, hoping his brother didn’t see his wistful smile in the dark. “Maybe when Ori gets married and has kids they’ll be able to justify hiring more maids, but not now for sure.”

“Who will she get married to? Do you know?” the younger one asked. “Papa says we can’t be betrothed, but is it the same for Ori?”

“Yes—Ori is going to marry whomever she chooses instead of having her parents choose for her,” Sterling said. “She’s not going to be forced to marry anyone.”

“It’d be weird if one of us had to marry her,” Seren decided. “Ori’s like our sister, or a cousin, and that would be very weird.”

“Only Maggie insists Ori is like a sister; she’s a very good friend, but she’s still not related to us.” Sterling went into panic mode, knowing he needed to quell this thought or trouble could be caused later. “What does our friendship with Ori have to do with hoping Papa’s cousins don’t come back?”

“Nothing—you brought it up.” Seren sat up and stared at Sterling. “Do _you_ want to marry Ori?”

“I want Ori to marry who she wants to!” he gasped, feigning insult. “Even if I did, do you think it would matter? It takes two parties to be okay with a marriage for one to happen.”

“…but there’s stories where evil fae that make a human marry them by force!” The young boy clutched his pillow in fear. “Those _are_ just stories, right?”

“They should be,” Sterling said. He pulled his brother down and secured him under the blanket, glad he was such a good source of heat in the drafty room. “There _is_ something weird about how Papa tells the Ogre and the Maiden though.”

“It’s not in any of our books—do you think it’s real?”

“Maybe, if the Ogre was actually just an Ogron. It’d make more sense, anyhow.”

Seren considered that, cuddling up against Sterling again. “Yeah… that makes sense. Goodnight, Sterling.”

“Goodnight, Seren.”

* * *

“Ori…?”

“Hmm…?”

“We’ll be friends forever, yeah?”

Down the corridor, in the girls’ room, Oriana rolled over in bed and stared at Maglina, whose arms were wrapped around her middle. “I hope so; why?”

“It’s just going to be lonely if you end up moving here and I end up somewhere on the other side of the kingdom,” Maglina said. She hugged her friend a bit tighter, clinging to her sadly. “Promise me we’ll always be friends?”

“I’m sure we’ll try our best,” Oriana replied. “You’re like my sister—I don’t want to not be friends with my sister.”

“If only we were _really_ sisters…” Maglina pondered. She then gasped, having an idea. “I know how we can be sisters _forever_!”

“How…?”

“Marry Sterling!” she grinned. “People call who their siblings marry their siblings, right?!”

“ _Maggie_ , we’re twelve and fourteen—I can’t go marrying Sterling _just_ because you want us to be sisters.”

“It’d be nice though, wouldn’t it?”

“I could do worse,” Oriana shrugged. The tweens then giggled at the entire concept. “Oh gosh, I’d have to fight Netta Braxos, wouldn’t I? She’d have a _fit_.”

“Netta is a nutter,” Maglina added. “Ew… could you imagine Sterling being like that? Being all clingy and possessive and rude? I think we’d have to smack him.”

“I think we’re in line behind whoever it is he clings to,” Oriana snickered. The two friends huddled together to combat the unseasonable chill and went to sleep, not another word to be spoken between them until the following morning.


	27. The Festival of the Violet Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: DominusTempori
> 
> Prompt: Father/son and/or mother/daughter bonding in whichever AU "Twelve and Clara have little kids" 'verse you please. In honor of Mother's Day passed and Father's Day coming up.
> 
> Originally posted on: 26 May 2016
> 
> Notes: 1101 words; I ended up writing ALL THE FILLS so this isn't even it and I'm happy; takes place the summer after Sterling is born, making his elder sisters six and four

In the northernmost reaches of the kingdom, in the care of the Doctors, the March of Kasterborous and the Earldom of Gallifrey was teeming with excitement. The longest day was nearing, meaning the Festival of the Violet Night was soon upon them. While the winter festival celebrating the long hours of twilight was staged on the castle grounds, the summer festivities that praised the short, barely-dark night took place within the city streets and plazas. It was the Marquis and Marchioness's honor to take their brood down into the throngs of people, though they dressed in common clothes to avoid garnering too much unnecessary attention.

"Mama, Mama, let's ride the up-and-down!" Astra gasped. She pointed at the large wheel in the plaza, her eyes gleaming in excitement. Her sisters began to also bounce in anticipation, which caused their mother to laugh.

"Alright, alright, we can go," the Marchioness replied. While the girls cheered, she passed the infant Sterling over to the Marquis, settling the boy in his father's grasp. "I'd like to not drop him if the carriage jerks about."

"Be careful, dearest," he replied, bending slightly to peck her lips.

The Marquis then watched as his wife paid for admission and were secured in the seat of the wood-and-metal structure. Large draft horses were made to turn the gears that operated the contraption, being fed and pet by giggling children during the breaks. The father sat down on a nearby barrel, holding his son propped against his chest.

"Your mama and sisters certainly do have an adventurous spirit," he murmured to the lad. "I'd be up there with them normally, I suppose, but we have to be careful for your sake."

Sterling made a gurgling sound and lifted his head, looking at his father in confusion. "No, son—it's not supposed to be dangerous, but the horses don't always stop smoothly and the bar that holds people in place doesn't give much room to keep a baby secure." Stroking his son's back, the Marquis kept the boy calm while they waited for the rest of the family to return.

"You know," he said, "one day you will be able to ride the up-and-down, and eventually attend festivals without Mama and me. You and your sisters will be owlets soaring far above the nest, with your own families to go on rides with, but I will still be Papa. Time may bring you a moon and stars that shall light your night sky, yet you will always be shining brightly in mine. Remember that now."

The baby in his care produced a fart and the Marquis huffed in aggravation. " _No_ … I'm not being too sentimental, young man. You will understand some day." Sterling slammed his forehead into his father's chest and drooled, chewing the fabric in front of him with his gummy mouth.

* * *

 

"Wow! This is so neat!" Lena gasped as the up-and-down stopped with their seat on the top of the wheel. They could just barely see over the tops of most of the buildings, sans for a few throughout town, the castle, and the city walls. Astra and Tara were stunned into silence, gazing out over the city in wonder.

"It's a different view than the one we get in the castle, isn't it?" the Marchioness chuckled. She had the twins to one side of her and Lena to the other, her daughters clutching the safety bar in their laps tightly. "Astra, Tara, what do you think?"

"It looks interesting, Mama," Astra said. "The buildings look so different like this."

"Yeah—and the castle _still_ seems so tall," Tara added. "It's no wonder Miss Martha keeps looking out the windows."

"Does she?" the Marchioness asked.

"Uh-huh," Lena said. "She was with Sir Daniel when he took us to see the festival setup yesterday. They came to the nursery for us, remember?"

"I remember that she and Sir Daniel both took you, but I didn't realize she was staring out the windows the entire time." The Marchioness decided that she was going to have to make sure to invite the physician over more, because anyone that her former love had decided to court must be a good and decent person. She glanced over at her husband fussing over their son on the ground and smiled, hugging her daughters as she had her arms around them. "Today is a very good day, don't you girls think?"

"Yes! I'm glad we get to come to the festivals," Astra beamed. The up-and-down began to move again and she clutched onto the safety bar. "Whoa! This is fun, isn't it, Mama?"

"It sure is, darling." She then waved to the Marquis and Sterling as they went down, prompting the girls to wave along with her. As they went up again, a thought came to mind. "Say, there is a fair like this in Blackpoole every so often—would you like to visit Grandpapa then? We might be able to convince him to attend the fair like we're doing."

"Does he not like attending fairs?" Lena asked.

"Oh, he does, but Grandpapa has always been very cautious," the Marchioness explained. "It was mainly your grandmamma who took me to the Blackpoole fairs as a child, because Grandpapa needed to work."

"Grandmamma took you to fairs…?" Tara questioned. Her eyes bugged at the very thought. "I thought she _hated_ fun."

Her mother snorted in response, the statement too humorous to not laugh. "No, not Grandpapa's _wife_ —Lady Linda and Grandpapa were wed when I was an adult. I mean your grandmother, _my mother_ , Grandmamma Elena."

"How come she died?" Astra asked quietly. The Marchioness stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head.

"Grandmamma Elena was in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all," she said. "It's nothing that you should concern yourself with, considering it happened well over twenty years ago now."

"Do you miss her?"

"Of course I do, but the fact I have you three and your brother make things better." The Marchioness chuckled slightly, knowing that just because her mother was gone did not mean things were all terrible. "I've learned to live with it, and I'm sure that it simply means that when I am Grandmamma, I will be _extra_ -loving."

"Mama, I'm _six_ ," Lena deadpanned.

"Did I say I had a timeline? I only ask you remember your duty to not only your people, but to your parents, once you come of-age."

All three girls groaned in protest; having Sterling around was all the baby-stuff they could stand talking about at that point. Mama needed to _stop_.


	28. The Doctors' Portrait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: thenotoriouscow
> 
> Prompt: Johan and Clara getting a portrait of themselves (or even a family portrait done idk) for a thing
> 
> Originally Posted: 11 August 2016
> 
> Notes: 1051 words; takes place while Lena’s a bun in the oven; possibly connected to a future main-story chapter because portraits; pure fluff

It was three weeks before the Marchioness’s formal creation as Doctor when her husband decided to surprise her with something they both considered an extravagance.

“You want to have another hall portrait done?” she marveled. “We already had one shortly after our wedding, and the baby is growing larger every day.” She touched a hand to her stomach, as if to check that the swelling of their child was still there. “Are you _mad_?”

“No, but I think it would be fitting,” the Marquis replied plainly. He took a sip of his water, eschewing wine with dinner as long as his wife was, and continued eating. “The first hall portrait was of Doctor and Companion, and this would be of the Dual Doctors. We already don’t commission large hall portraits nearly as much as others in our position, and the smaller ones at least allow us to offer local artists additional patronage.”

“Then let’s make sure we have a while before we sit for another one,” she said. “Have you thought of an artist?”

“I’ve already contacted the young man who did our wedding portrait and he’s eager to take the job on,” he stated. “You did find his work satisfactory, correct?”

“More than satisfactory; he’s brilliant. I only want to make sure that we’re not spending too much, with the ceremony and ball _and_ portrait, is all.”

“Kester is a rather reasonable man when it comes to payment—he actually prefers installments rather than being paid up-front.”  The Marquis glanced over at his wife and allowed himself a smile. “Is there anything you want for the portrait in particular?”

“Not really,” the Marchioness mused. “When can he start?”

* * *

 

The following afternoon, after court and their lunch, the Marquis and Marchioness met with the artist who was to work on their portrait. Kester Riggins had been allowed into the governance hall after court had cleared out and while the maids were working on their cleaning, setting up his canvas and paints and brushes so that he was ready when he employers arrived. One thing he had not said would be set up was a wooden play cot, occupied by a gurgling babe that rolled about as the future Dual Doctors entered the hall.

“Now who is this brilliant little darling?” the Marquis asked, bending down to pluck the child from her cot. Her father stared at them uneasily, hoping that it was not some sort of ruse.

“That’s my daughter, Lucy,” Kester explained. “My wife is out of town at the moment and Lucy’s not very good at traveling yet, or else she’d have her.”

“I think she’s lovely,” the Marchioness assured. She patted Kester’s shoulder while watching her husband with the baby, leaning in close so that no one else could hear her words. “Every child he encounters does him good—I’m sure you know about His Lordship’s first wife.”

“None of us say as much, but all Gallifreyans and Kasterborsians know about the Tragedy of Lady Melody,” he replied. “You didn’t fill her shoes, milady, but you did make a mark of your own that is just as brilliant.”

“Flattery,” she chuckled. The Marchioness then went up the dais to the governance chair, sitting down as she waited for her husband to catch up. “Johan… Kester would like to get started.”

“Oh, that’s right,” the Marquis grunted. He placed the child back in her cot and patted her head, watching carefully as she flopped down onto her back before joining his wife up at the dais. He helped her stand and glanced back at the artist. “What would you prefer us to do? I assume you have an idea in mind.”

“Yes, please,” Kester replied. He went up to the Marquis and Marchioness and posed them carefully, making sure to catch a flattering light and angle on them both before going back down to his easel. “Now if you can please hold still for a little while; once I do the main outline, I should be able to let milord and milady to take their seats for a time.”

The sketching took nearly no time at all before Kester prompted his liege lord and lady to sit and relax. They sat on the large governance chair holding hands, keeping their expressions rigid as possible for the artist. Every so often they’d glance at one another and speak silently with their eyes, as well as their minds, as the Marquis was able to accommodate.

‘ _This is an excellent break_ ,’ he mentioned. ‘ _To think we were not even in the same room during our last portrait_.’

‘ _Our last portrait we didn’t even touch one another in the sketch_ ,’ she recalled. ‘ _Now that I’ve had more time to think on it, I do believe it was wise to commission a new one. Our children will be able to go into the portrait hall and see their mama and papa truly together_.’ Her eyes flicked over towards the babe in her cot for a moment and she chuckled. ‘ _You were much better with her than with other children; should we offer to foster her so you can get used to dealing with a child?_ ’

‘ _…and take her away from her parents like that? Because we decree it? That would be cruel._ ’

It was then that their young guest began to whimper, flailing inside her cot as she demanded attention. Kester put down his paints and picked her up, trying to quickly hush the girl.

“My apologies; this shouldn’t be too long,” he said.

“Nonsense—bring her here,” the Marquis ordered. Kester did as he was told, handing his daughter over almost timidly. “Work on my wife’s visage if I am too active with Lucy.”

“…but, are you sure, milord? You wouldn’t rather call a maid?”

“The maids are busy enough without me asking them to do extra things such as babysit random children,” he replied. “I do not mind. The young Earl or Earlessa will be glad I’ve had the practice, wouldn’t you think?”

“I believe so, yeah,” Kester agreed. He then returned to his canvas, leaving his daughter in the care of his lord. Lucy giggled and cooed and stared at the grey-whiskered man holding her, not wholly satisfied until she crawled up his chest and tugged on his facial hair.


	29. A Bath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: In Want of An Heir verse... The Doctor and Clara have an intimate private moment in the bath where they get to just relax for the moment. They can get frisky or full on sexy times it's completely up to you! :)
> 
> Originally posted: 30 August 2016
> 
> Notes: 1826 words; rough ages are Johan at 65, Clara at 46, Lena at 15, Astra/Tara at 13, Sterling at 9, Maglina 7, and Seren at 2; notes at the end are not mandatory but more background information for the curious; contains situational nudity and states of being soaking wet, as well as Johan and Clara being a bit over PG-13-levels of gross and being parents (though not at the same time)

Although having children was literally part of their job description, the Marquis and Marchioness of Kasterborous knew they wouldn’t trade their little ones for anything. They behaved well enough, better than many children of their social standing if they were honest, yet keeping track of them was such a hassle that the parents’ energy was often drained before midday. It so happened that on one day, very much like all the others, when they decided to finally take some time to themselves. They quietly conferred in the ceremonial tongue as they walked through the corridors, deciding to break the news to their eldest in the same way.

“ _Papa and I are going down to the baths_ ,” the Marchioness told the young teen. “ _Seren may come into your room if he needs attention_.”

“ _Why the baths?_ ” Lena wondered, her nose scrunching in confusion. She kept to the ceremonial tongue, knowing that her mother was using it for one reason or another. “ _You’re not dirty or oily, and the scent you’ve been wearing is a good one_.”

“When you get old and your bones begin to ache, you’ll understand,” she replied. At that, she shooed Lena back into her room and entered the nursery to check in on the Marquis and his attempts at putting down the younger three for the night. While Sterling was down and with the blankets covering his head, Maglina and Seren were still insisting on staying up. She watched as her husband tried to pull their youngest son off their youngest daughter’s shoulders, the latter _adamant_ that rides still needed to be given.

“Papa! We’re not _done_!” the little girl whined.

“No done! No done!” her brother added. The Marchioness decided to help out by walking over and gingerly lifting Seren into her arms, the boy immediately cooperating thanks to the fact it meant hugging Mama. “Play?”

“No play—the sky is red and it is time for sleeping,” she crooned, stroking his fluffy curls. Seren scowled and squished his face against her chest in protest. “Now, now, none of that; all good little boys and girls should be in bed right now.”

“…but _Mama_ …” Maglina chimed in.

“No buts,” the Marquis said sternly. “Into bed with both of you; if you need us and were are not in our chambers, see Lena. Mama and I have important business to attend to yet before bed.”

“Playtime is important!”

“During the daytime it is, not at night.”

“It’s not _fair_ …!”

“Lady Maglina Diantha of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands, _bed. **Now.**_ ”

Maglina knew her father was serious, for her full name _with title_ was the warning that a swift smack on the bottom was coming if she did not comply; he was well-past the time-out stage if Gallifrey herself was mentioned and a few extra moments of red-lit play was not worth a smacked bottom. She grouchily crawled into her bed while Seren was tucked into his, attempting to ignore the Marquis as he brought her stuffed bunny over to her side.

“You forgot Malcolm,” he said, offering her the toy. She quickly took it from his hands and held it close, grunting in disapproval. Her father tucked her in and left a kiss upon her brow, saying, “Plenty of sleep and you will be big and strong and smart, just like your sisters. Goodnight, starlet.”

With the three children they needed to worry about in bed, the parents slipped into their own bedchamber and gathered the things they would need, placing them in a basket, which the Marquis slipped on his arm. His other was soon claimed by the Marchioness as they went out into the corridors.

“I really wish you’d stop with that,” she said as they navigated the moon-lit castle. “She’s getting too old for such things.”

“Scoldings?”

“Smackings.”

“Oh, I agree, but it’s the _fear_ of the smacking that is the punishment at her age—Maglina is mature enough to understand without force, thank the stars,” he sighed. “Punishing our children has never been something I enjoy, let alone ever want to do. Seren’s almost to that point as well… I always saw him as enjoying being the baby, yet he seems immensely mature for his age.”

“That’s what happens when there’s such a large gap between the eldest and youngest, even the youngest and next-youngest,” she replied. The Marchioness leaned her head on her husband’s upper arm and frowned. “Such a serious child—he doesn’t seem to ever want to be a child unless it involves keeping a monopoly on our attention.”

“Both our sons remind me of myself when I was a lad,” the Marquis noted. “I naturally see more of you in our daughters, but our sons seem to take after me.”

“No, only Sterling takes after his papa,” she chuckled. “I’ll trade you Lena for Seren; she’s the duty-minded one whom happens to wear skirts instead of trousers, while he is merely _determined_ and I claim all the determination our children display.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirked. He then let go of her arm and held open the door to the baths for his wife, bowing his head as she passed.

A long-standing tradition of Ancient Gallifrey, the bathing rooms were a feature of the castle that had been built in during the time of the First Doctor’s tenure, when Castle Gallifrey was constructed from the ground up. The river that ran underneath the stone foundations was utilized as not only a fresh water source, but energy to keep things in production even well into the night. Most of it was the millstones that ground grains in the ancillary kitchens, yet some was utilized in keeping the boilers well-maintained no matter the time. Huge metal boilers had the ability to not only be constantly fed fuel, but made to shake the ashes out, allowing for washing and bathing at all times, day or night. Such power was only utilized when large amounts of guests were being prepared for and taken care of, however, and now the boilers were working at not even half-capacity. It still did not take away from the ornate tilework of the walls and floor, as well as the private alcoves easily utilized by the family and staff alike.

Ducking into one of the alcoves, one marked as specially-reserved, the Marquis uttered a word in the ceremonial tongue over the rope that turned it into a barrier before joining the Marchioness by the large, deep tub in the inner sanctum. Mosaic swirls and circles in the Ancient Gallifreyan manner surrounded them, surrounding them with designs and wards more powerful than many either of them could conjure themselves. The Marquis ran the water hot, adding some cool water straight from the river as it filled the tub. Different bottles of soaps, scents, and lotions were lined up on a series of shelves built into the tile; he plucked a particular soap off its shelf and poured it into the running water, allowing the steam to carry its scent throughout the room.

No sooner did he set the bottle down did the Marchioness gently turn him around and begin to work on undressing him. Her fingers were gentle as she worked at buttons and clasps, pretending not to notice as his own fingers were starting to ease of her garments as well. The exposure of skin brought tender kisses and delicate touches until it was all they saw. The Marquis gave the Marchioness a hand as she stepped into the tub, following her soon after. Immersing themselves in the hot water felt better than it should have, nearly melting away their aches and weariness almost immediately.

“Mmm… come here,” the Marchioness requested, holding her arms open. The Marquis dunked his head underwater and resurfaced, shaking the excess water from his head before slicking it down and complying with his wife’s wishes. He stretched out inside the length of the tub and laid down in her grasp, chin whiskers nearly in the water while resting his back against her front, using her partially-submerged breasts as a pillow.

“Now this is truly relaxing,” he murmured. “The children are able to care for one another, no one is allowed admittance on official government matters, no guests to entertain…”

“It’s the perfect sort of night for just the two of us,” she finished. She stroked his soaked curls, playing with the tips by twirling them around her fingers. “It’s a shame we are almost always here with the younger ones, or else we could do this more often.”

“Speaking of how mature they’re becoming, Maglina seems to be doing alright bathing on her own, which means we only have Seren, and Lena or Astra can take care of him,” he mused. “In fact, _Sterling_ could help his brother if the need presents itself—I can see the lad caring for his sisters’ children when they come around.”

“Thinking about grandchildren already; naughty,” she laughed. The Marchioness grabbed onto her husband’s sides and squeezed, tickling him. He squirmed and vanished underneath the water, popping back up not too far away. The Marquis wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a fiendish grin before diving under once again. His wife didn’t know what was on his mind until she felt his hands hold her legs in place and suddenly he was kissing her, causing her to squirm and hit the back of his head. He stopped and came back up, slightly confused.

“Is everything alright?”

“ _You_ need a smacking, just like our Seren,” she only half-teased. “We just drew this bath and now you want to do _this_?”

“Hasn’t stopped us before,” he reminded her.

“Then make it worth draining the bath,” she dared.

He accepted her challenge and brought his head down to kiss a breast, allowing his fingers to take over where he had been moments before. The Marquis used changing breasts as his chance to suck in another breath, not letting up until his wife melted in his arms, her breathing ragged from his efforts. She nearly immediately pulled him closer when he made to give her space, sinking down upon him when she realized he was as aroused as he had ever been.

After the bath had been drained, rinsed, refilled, and then used for its proper purpose, the Doctors dried one another off and pulled on their night things. Putting their day clothes in the basket, they brought them back up to their room for the maids to take care of in the morning. Their bed felt good as the Marquis laid on his back, the Marchioness deciding to curl into his side and use his chest as a pillow before falling asleep near immediately. In the red of night he laid there, silently stroking her barely-damp hair, allowing the relaxing evening to help him drift off towards sleep. Things were good, and they could still steal a few moments now and then, which admittedly was even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't think I've explained this yet, but the Doctors' family doesn't exactly have full names like we know them. Tara is the only one with a proper surname, Smith, being that she needs one for registration at school; Clara almost has one in Oswald, since her father is David Oswald, but in her case it is a line name, as in "of House Oswald". Her name, post-marriage, is "Lady Marchioness Clara Oswald of Blackpoole, Kasterborous, and Gallifrey"; in only the most formal documents do they go beyond the Blackpoole part. Johan is "Lord Marquis Johan Lonan of Kasterborous and Gallifrey" and the rest of the kids, well, they have their first and middle names, but instead of Smith or Oswald, they have "of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands" (or "of Gallifrey" in short form). When Johan and Clara retire from being Marquis and Marchioness, Lena will become "Lady Marchioness Lena Anthea of Kasterborous and Gallifrey", adding the marquisate and dropping the "northern lands" bit because said northern lands are part of Kasterborous proper. By law, her siblings get to continue using "of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands" as part of their name until she has children, after which they drop the northern lands bit and become "of Gallifrey" unless they adopt a surname like Tara did. This indicates that they are no longer in a direct line to the governance chair and are officially the start of cadet branches. All this also does not include things such as using Gallifrey as a surname, or keeping the noble "of Gallifrey" should they marry someone with a proper surname and take it, the spouse being noble or not (Lena's siblings are all Lords and Ladies by being born into hereditary nobility, which entitles them to the style until their death; the only way for their children to be lords/ladies as well is by having them with a titled spouse, or gaining a hereditary serdarship).
> 
> Also, Johan only has a really good lung capacity, not the Doctor's respiratory bypass system.


	30. Lady Linda's Dinner Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: DominusTempori
> 
> Prompt: Well we all know the girls in "Stars in a Sky of Blood and Blue" have very cool floral middle ("trouble") names, but what would Sterling or Seren have to do to have their parents invoke THEIR middle names?
> 
> Originally posted: 24 September 2016
> 
> Notes: 1664 words; basically, they're both dumb because Johan is shit at naming boys (Seren even got a gender-neutral (in Kasterborous; it's feminine elsewhere in the unnamed kingdom and in real life Welsh) name so all bets are off), but the best/worst part is that one boy never gets in trouble while the other rarely does so, meaning their names are like closely-guarded secrets for them; rough ages are as follows: David at 71, Johan at 70, Linda at 63, Clara at 51, Lena at 20, Astra at 18 (we are post-Tara's first deployment), Sterling at 14, Maglina at 12, and Seren at an old 6

As far as things went, Seren was officially _bored_ out of his _mind_ , and by all admission it took a lot for him to be bored at all, let alone this badly. He sat quietly in the chair and attempted to not fidget, knowing that if he did, Grandmamma would be cross. The six-year-old (“…nearly seven!”) had been scheduled to eat dinner that night under supervision of one of Grandpapa’s most trusted maids, yet Mama and Papa had _insisted_ that he dine with the rest of the family, as he was able to do every other night. It did not matter that they were in Blackpoole instead of Gallifrey, or that Grandmamma had invited _other_ guests over and they did not have any young children with them: he would prove that he _should_ be allowed to stay with the adults. Unfortunately for Seren, that meant sitting through conversations he did not understand while he picked at his peas, missing getting to stay with one of his favorite members of his grandfather’s staff.

“Seren, eat your food,” Maglina quietly suggested. He was seated between her and Mama, which ensured that he had someone on either side that wasn’t cross that he was there.

“I don’t want peas though,” he whispered back.

“You like peas.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather have _broccolis_. Chicken tastes better with broccolis; peas go much better with hams.”

“Children, shush,” Mama said. She had been grumpy all day, since she found out Grandmamma’s dinner party plans. Sipping her wine, she glanced about, taking in the other guests carefully. Sterling was seated not far away, as was Papa, but Lena and Astra were on the far end of the table, surrounded by young men Grandmamma had been very happy to introduce them to before dinner started. One was one of her cousin’s sons, another was his friend, and a third was his uncle’s heir to… something. Seren forgot, but figured it wasn’t anything that important to begin with, or else his sisters would look much more interested in finding out what it was.

“I think it’s about time we go through,” Grandmamma announced, placing the napkin from her lap onto the table. “How about it?”

Everyone else followed suit and they filed into the lounge, where people began to break off into small groups for the remainder of the evening. Seren wasn’t entirely sure who to stay with. Mama and Papa were standing off in one corner talking quietly with one another, while Maglina and Sterling were talking with a boy around their age, Grandpapa was nowhere to be seen, and Lena and Astra were keeping their Polite Faces on while talking to those men from before. The child instead went to where Grandmamma was sitting with one of her wrinkly, funny-smelling friends, hoping he could find some answers.

“Grandmamma, what should I do?” he asked. If _anyone_ knew what to do at this dinner party, it was the lady who planned it.

“What a charming lad,” Grandmamma’s friend cooed. “I saw you behaved perfectly during dinner; a little gentleman, and much better than my children at your age.”

“Seren is David’s youngest grandchild,” Grandmamma said. She took a drink from a footman and sipped at it. “His mother insisted we have him at the party, which was something I insisted against, but you know how the hovering sort gets.”

“He even has a little cape—how _darling_ ,” the friend noticed. “Does wearing a cape make you feel grown up like your papa?”

“No…?” Seren replied, a bit confused. “This _was_ Sterling’s cape, and Maggie used it for a little bit, but it’s warm and swooshy and fits me perfect, so it’s mine now. Why would it make me feel like Papa?”

“Again with such common practices as _hand-me-downs_ ,” Grandmamma frowned. “That _friend_ of David’s daughter sometimes lets his upbringing seep into the children’s, I know it does. They should be ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what, Grandmamma?” Seren wondered. “I like my cape—it’s cozy when it’s cold outside. It’s Autumn and I’m in short trousers, Grandmamma. I’m cold without it.”

“Go bother one of your siblings; we adults have something very important to discuss,” Grandmamma insisted. Seren bowed politely and walked away, looking around for his family. Everyone seemed to be moving about so much that the only ones he could find were Lena and Astra and the gentlemen they were introduced to. He walked up without a word and leaned into his eldest sister’s skirts, making a defeated noise.

“Well, look at who we have here,” one of the men chuckled. “Are you in-between nurses, you naughty lad?”

“Mama and Papa don’t like nurses and governesses doing work that they can themselves,” Astra mentioned. “We’re the closest our youngest brother has to either.”

“That is interesting,” another man nodded. “No governess… not at all?”

“A governess would imply that we were unruly and needed coaxing into shape,” Lena said. She stroked Seren’s hair affectionately, glad he was there to divert the topic from elsewhere. “My younger siblings and I are all very well-behaved, therefore hiring a governess would only get in the way of what needs to be done.”

“If you insist…”

“Lena, am I a bother?” Seren asked, face still in her skirts.

“Of course not; did Grandpapa’s wife say you were bothering her?”

“No, but she said to go bother you,” he said.

“My bet is that she wanted you to just see how we were doing,” one of the men said. “Sometimes adults say things in ways kids don’t always understand.”

“I understand—Grandmamma _hates_ fun,” Seren declared.

“Been like that long as I can remember,” the man related to Grandmamma chuckled.

Seren stayed in his spot while the older ones talked some more about this thing and that. This was _boring_ and he was regretting going along when Mama said he was going to come to the dinner party whether Grandmamma liked it or not. Eventually, there was a tap on his shoulder and the footman who was passing out drinks to the adults was crouched down next to him, a glass full of amber liquid on his tray.

“Would Young Master Seren like some juice?” he asked. “It’s from the sweetapples in His Lordship’s orchards. Your lady mother says it’s your favorite.”

“Thank you very much,” the boy squeaked out. He took the juice and drank a little; it _was_ the sweetapples from Grandpapa’s orchard. Humming happily, he looked around the lounge again, hoping to see Mama so that he could go to her instead. Instead, when he turned his attention to his sister Astra, he saw one of the men standing next to her had his hand on her waist. He glared up at the man fifteen years his senior, which caused the man to laugh.

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t touch my sister like that,” Seren demanded. “She doesn’t like it.”

“Now what would you know about something like that?”

Grunting, Seren went and found the footman to hand back his apple juice. When he was free of the glass, he bounced back over and scowled at the man again. “Don’t touch Astra like that.”

“ _Go away_ , child,” the man said. Instead of doing as he was told, Seren scrunched up his nose and punched the man in the wee—a place that Sir Daniel said was always good to punch in if a strange man wanted him to come along and no one he knew was around to say it was alright. The man dropped to the floor, hands protecting his wee from further damage, and the party went quiet.

“ _Lord Seren Potin of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands_ ,” Astra hissed angrily. She bent down to pick him up, but her voice was nicer when she whispered in his ear, “Kick and make a fuss until I say so.”

Now _that_ order he listened to, thrashing and flailing as not only Astra carried him out, but Lena took his legs as well, and the sisters hauled him into the corridor and away from the lounge. They were by the staircase when Seren stopped, looking up at his sisters worriedly.

“Can I stop now?” he asked.

“Yes; thank you, Seren,” Astra laughed. She and Lena placed him on the floor, all three giggling at their predicament. “You got us out of an _awful_ situation—I think this deserves an extra dessert from the kitchens.”

“Really?!” Seren gasped, eyes growing wide in excitement. A thought then crossed his mind and he quieted. “How come you let that man touch you? Tara would have punched him in more places than his wee if it was her.”

“…that’s because this is Grandmamma’s party, so we play by her rules,” Lena explained as they descended the stairs. “Where Tara would punch a man in the face, Grandmamma would rather charm her way into getting him to do what he wants.”

“…why?”

“Grandmamma doesn’t punch very hard, so she has to know how to shoo people away without resorting to punching,” Astra added. “It’s a little complicated, but just know that _this time_ you did good.” They then entered the kitchens, where the cook greeted them with open arms and a large slice of cake and glass of milk for the young hero. He had to be lectured on the importance of _talking_ someone away before hitting them, but that was alright for him.

When all the cake and milk was gone, Seren was too full and sleepy to move, so Lena carried him up the stairs to the family wing, where their father waiting to put the lad to bed himself. Papa said he did splendidly, and that he should remember to never behave like that man did, or some other woman one day will find _her_ younger brother punching _him_. Seren went to sleep curled up and content—a belly full of sweets and significantly less bored than when he was at the dinner table, and that was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potin (I say poh-tin, but I dunno how it’s actually pronounced) was a silver-like alloy used for Roman and Celtic coinage, as per wiki. This is the least silly of the brothers’ names.


	31. The Lineage (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Johan explaining the family tree to the children. Also maybe some history on the 9th and 11th Doctors?
> 
> Originally posted: 21 October 2016
> 
> Notes: 1341 words; takes place when Johan is 57 and Lena is 7; covers a bit of the Eleventh Doctor, as well as a wee bit of the Ninth and then some Classic Series Doctors' era as well

"Papa, people with ancestors from Ancient Gallifrey live a long time, right?"

"Yes; why do you ask, starlet?"

"Why don't we know Grandpapa Troy? He shouldn't be that old for a Gallifreyan, should he?"

The Marquis's heart sank as he saw the hurt expression in his eldest daughter's stormy eyes. She was practicing her letters whilst he sat reading in the study, her younger sisters and brother all in the nursery with a cough while their mother tended to them.

"You are correct—Grandpapa Troy should be here to dote on you and your siblings," he admitted. "He should be only eighty-seven years old, which isn't long a life at all for our blood. Why do you ask?"

"Sir Daniel was talking about the history of the march today, and I don't know how come he died so young? I asked Sir Daniel, and he said he didn't know, so I thought I'd ask you."

"What else did Sir Daniel tell you about our family?"

"Not much; we talked about the marquises that came after the Dalek Wars but before you, so Grandpapa Troy Kalyoan, Great-Grandpapa Johan Alvis, and Great- _Great_ -Grandpapa Johan Claud," she said. "Grandpapa's grandpapa died because he was old, and _your_ grandpapa died because he was in a battle when you were little, but what about _my_ grandpapa? Why did he die?"

The Marquis closed his book and placed it on the table next to him, beckoning his daughter over. She did so and sat next to him, a warm fire merrily crackling in the nearby hearth. "When I was born, my father was best friends with a couple who were also trying to have a child. The moment Serdaressa Pond became pregnant, it was decided that if the child was a girl, she and I would be betrothed."

"Was it a girl?"

"She was, and we were betrothed nearly as soon as she was born."

"Is that why you don't want to betroth any of us?"

"In a way," he said. "Ever since your Grandmamma River disappeared during one of her work trips, Grandpapa Troy was… _different_. Something about the idea that his family and his best friends' family would one day merge made him excited as we grew older."

"…you getting married would mean you'd have children, and then his family would grow again, which it couldn't after Grandmamma River disappeared," she noted.

"Very perceptive," he grinned, poking her nose. Lena giggled and listened quietly as he continued. "Melody and I married when she turned eighteen, and Papa was overjoyed, but it wasn't for very long, because when she went to have a baby, she died. It made him so sad that he died of a broken heart."

"How come she died?"

"Some women simply do—their bodies cannot handle having a baby when it happens, and there's no method of telling beforehand. Her papa was sick and dying at the time, and he died a month after she did, and my papa a month afterwards. I started that summer waiting to be a father and ended it having buried my wife, father, and father-in-law."

"What about the baby?" Lena wondered.

"Your elder sibling did not survive the night," he explained sadly. "I was very sad for a long time, and it wasn't until after I married your mama did I start to really live again."

"If Grandpapa Troy died because he was very sad, then how come you lived? You were the one who married Lady Melody, so you had to be even more sad."

"I'm not sure. I was in a daze for most of the following couple years, and I still have yet to return to the house where it happened. Marrying your mama was what saved me, because she gave me life when I had none."

"Too bad she couldn't save Grandpapa," Lena frowned.

"He would have _adored_ her, if it makes you feel any better," the Marquis assured her, giving her a one-armed hug. "He would have loved every one of you children as well, because there was little that gave him more joy than making children happy. While I'm sad that you did miss out on having him in your life, I'm glad that you have your Grandpapa David, because you need to know at least one grandparent."

"Why didn't Sir Daniel know about all that though?" the girl asked. "He's our tutor, so he should know these things, right?"

"He does know, but I asked him very specifically to not discuss it with you until after I explained the facts when you were ready—that applies to you _and_ your siblings, so please don't mention it to them just yet."

"Does that mean that he does know who Great-Great-Grandpapa Johan was married to? He said he didn't know that either, but is that something we need to be ready for too?"

"No—no one knows whom he married," he said. "She was a soldier like he was—that much we do know—and they married with only a few years left in the Dalek Wars. There were some people at the time who doubted whether or not they were married, or that my grandpapa and his brother were even their father's actual sons…"

"…but they were, right?"

"They were, and people would have had a better time believing him had their mother lived to make it back to Gallifrey to be created Marchioness at his side, but your grandpapa's grandpapa had already contracted battle sickness long before that and because of it would not talk much of her."

"Did she die fighting Daleks?"

"She did, and valiantly, if we take what Grandpapa Johan Claud _was_ able to say as the complete truth."

"Grandpapa Johan Alvis didn't know his mama, your mama disappeared when you were little, and Grandmamma Elena died when Mama was little…" Lena mused. She furrowed her brow in thought, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Mama won't die while we're still little, will she?"

"By the stars in the sky, I hope that she doesn't, but there are some things we cannot control," the Marquis replied. "Grandmamma Elena was an unfortunate accident with some bandits, Grandmamma River had a very dangerous profession by being an archaeologist, and Grandpapa Johan Alvis's mama was a soldier on the front lines of a war that cost Kasterborous and the kingdom many, many lives. They may not have seen their children grow up, but it's because they refused to simply stay at home and be quiet. They were _strong_ , and while it's sad, they lived their lives doing what they were best at." He paused for a moment before continuing. "Did you know that there were still plenty of marchionesses that lived long lives that were just as interesting?"

"…yeah?"

"Grandmamma Donata was a firebrand—no one in His Highness's court could underestimate her hand get away with it," he said. "Then there was the Third Marchioness, Elizabeth, who was a well-respected scientist throughout the kingdom, and the Seventh Marchioness Melanie's grace with technology was what inspired her daughter Dorothy to get into technology herself, and although it was her death that sparked the Dalek Wars, it was also her advancements that helped eventually win it."

"…but I thought you said that Marchioness Melanie was known for her scream that could peel the paper off walls!" Lena smirked.

"…and who do you think had the idea to attempt to weaponize such a talent? She was smarter than she let on, and for a very good reason, starlet."

The Marquis took great pride in talking to his eldest daughter about the women in their family, and how genuinely incredible they were throughout the years. Although the girl still hugged her mother a bit tighter before bed that night, she was still assured that no matter what would happen in the future, they would always be remembered as members of a long line of great individuals, men and women both, and there was very little that was going to change that.


	32. Spreading Her Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Anonymous
> 
> Prompt: Reread The Union in Stars in a Sky of Blood and Blue both Lena and Tara mentioned Maglina briefly as a potential heartbreaker. Not much is written about her. Will there be a chapter with her as an adult like the solo one with Seren?
> 
> Originally posted: 21 January 2017
> 
> Notes: 1676 words; takes place the late summer, cusp of the autumn after Maglina turns seventeen; writing cordial/subtle is rough since I'm usually pretty blunt and have no filter in real life; I do plan on following all the children's escapades (to a degree), but the problem with writing about a large family like this is obviously not having enough time to dedicate to all of them as well as the fact that fast-forwarding to Maglina and Seren means major spoilers for the lives of their elder siblings.

For her first visit to the capital without any of her family members at her side, Maglina was decidedly bored. Even if her best friend _could_ be allowed on the trip, Oriana was in the middle of preparations for her coming-of-age ceremony as well as exams, therefore having too little time as of late for much more than a shared lunch here or joint babysitting there. The friends didn’t even talk much about the letters Sterling sent from the front anymore simply due to a lack of time, even though Oriana was the one who received them regularly—it was all rather frustrating.

Maybe, if things were different, they could at least study together, Maglina pondered as she rode through the crowded evening streets in her carriage. They were on different paths, with Oriana declaring she wanted to become Sir Daniel’s heir in both occupation and title, while Maglina had neither of the sort. She knew she _could_ attend the Royal University if she wanted to, even if she had to study up for the entrance exams her friend tackled the previous year, but the notion felt like a waste…

…which was precisely why Lena saw this as the opportunity to strike.

The carriage came to a stop and the young lady was helped out by the driver. Before her sat a townhouse that felt like the last place she should ever be, despite the fact she knew it was just nerves telling her to flee. A pair of footmen was waiting at the opened door and bowed deeply as she approached.

“If milady would accompany me, I can show her the way inside,” one said courteously. She bowed her head slightly in thanks.

“That would be most appreciated,” she replied, giving him a smile. The footman, whom she had never seen before and only appeared to be a couple years older than her at the most, blushed in embarrassment before leading her into the house. She knew the way, though knew it was better to be introduced properly.

“The Lady Maglina Diantha of Gallifrey and the Northern Lands,” the footman announced as he poked his head into a room.

“Ah, there you are, Maggie,” the Earlessa Braxos said, her usually-flat voice almost betraying her relief. “I’m glad that you could make it. Come in, please; I was just telling the Duchess here how this can be considered your soft presentation, so to speak.”

“Oh, yes, a couple dinner parties away from the family but with close friends—it is what my lady sister thinks is best before Mama bring me before His Highness next year,” Maglina smiled. She knew the duchess was a dour woman, but also was married to a man with lands abutting Braxos. “How are you doing tonight, Your Grace? The road into the capital was not a kind one this time around.”

“You would not know this, child, but I generally live in the capital these days,” the duchess replied. “I find it to be much more civilized down here—how you manage in your sister’s lands is beyond me.”

“Beg your pardon, but I am hardier than I look, milady.”

“This is true, but you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, dear; Gallifreyans may last longer than most of us in a wide variety of situations, but don’t tell me you are unable to appreciate what the cosmopolitan city has to offer in comparison to the northern edge of the kingdom.”

“The kingdom is fortunate to have a great city as its central governmental hub, that is for certain.” Maglina swore internally as the Earlessa Braxos excused herself, finding her way towards a new, more amiable, guest and leaving Maglina with the Duchess.

“I do find it interesting how you are the one in attendance,” the older woman frowned, sipping at her drink. “I thought that our hosts’ daughter is soon to turn sixteen; shouldn’t she be here as well?”

“Netta has a cold, I believe—got caught in the rain if I recall her letter correctly,” Maglina lied. She knew precisely why the Braxosi heir was not in attendance: Simonetta had no great love for the capital, which would have put her at-odds with many of the people there. The Earl and Earlessa Braxos were there though, making any sort of slight minimal until after her coming-of-age.

“Poor thing, though I guess it is safer this way,” the Duchess sighed. Maglina then saw her eyes sparkle as an idea came to her. “Here, why don’t I introduce you to some of the other youngsters here—you know a number of them, of course, but I don’t think you know them all…” She then clutched the teen’s arm tightly and dragged Maglina over to a trio of young men, all more her twin sisters’ age than hers. “Good evening, gentlemen. Have any of you met the Young Lady Maglina yet?”

“I think my little brother attended her birthday party last year,” one of the men said cordially. He took Maglina’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “It seems that he was telling the truth about the intense beauty and grace surrounding his hostess.”

“Be careful,” Maglina warned with a giggle. “I am still a maid of seventeen; don’t go getting yourself into trouble for my sake.”

“He speaks the truth though, as you are a beauty beyond compare,” another of the men said. “I would have never guessed you were seventeen, but an elegant woman in her early twenties.”

“If you wanted a woman like that, you’d have to take your chances with my sister Astra… if her husband would let you near her first, that is.”

“True, true,” First chuckled. “Though don’t you have another sister other than the one who is married and the marchioness?”

“I do, but ‘ _elegant’_ is not usually the word people would use to describe her,” she said.

“That’s right! Your family is the one with a daughter stationed along the kingdom’s borders,” Third gasped in realization. “That is an incredible feat for a noble woman.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s a feat for a noble man as well,” Second said. “I wouldn’t do it, no matter how well it pays.”

“Tara was in the Officer’s Program in the local Academy, so we knew for a long time she was destined for greatness,” Maglina said. She glanced to her side and saw that the Duchess had left her alone, now discussing some unknown topic with someone else.

“Still, it’s good to see that at least one of the Black Spectre’s daughters has chosen a path better suited to her standings,” Third said. Maglina took a glass from a passing footman, not knowing if she was going to need its contents. “Her Ladyship the Marchioness didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter from the moment she was born, one twin took to soldiering, while the other fell for a man barely uncommon, and the youngest off to Blackpoole to attempt inheriting what the former marchioness could not… I have to say, if it were my sisters, I would neither argue it, nor understand a single moment.”

It took Maglina a couple seconds to realize what Third was saying. “Oh, Seren?” she wondered. He nodded. “Seren’s my _brother_ , not my sister. Think of it being how ‘ _Sam’_ is short for both ‘ _Samuel’_ and ‘ _Samantha’_ —we have staff members of both genders who go by the name. It becomes a bit confusing at times, but it works itself out.”

“Except Sam is a normal occurrence, while I don’t think I’ve ever met a man named Seren.”

“Then you must frequent more Kasterborsian parties,” Maglina insisted playfully. “Where are you from? Southern men often need fair warning when it comes to our crisp autumns, which is when I assume you’re next free.”

“I grew up in a villa on the outskirts of Rhylls, so I really don’t know how Serdar Peladon’s nephew can survive in the northern hinterlands.”

“His sense of duty towards Peladon Shipping and Freight, but more importantly: his love for my sister and their children,” she replied.

“I only heard of one child between them,” First wondered. “Is she due with another?”

“She will make me an aunt again during the thaw, yes,” Maglina grinned. “Children are wonderful, aren’t they?”

“They can be,” Second shrugged.

“Is motherhood something you desire, Lady Maglina?” First asked.

“It is—I have fond memories of helping Mama and Papa take care of my younger brother when he was small and now it’s my pleasure to watch over my sister’s child when I have the time. Being a mother is different than being a babysitter, though I believe it will suit me.”

“Then do you have anyone particular in mind?” Second asked. Maglina could see the look in his eyes; if his friends weren’t about to do something, he was.

“Haven’t given it much thought, and won’t until I am presented formally,” she replied. “Mama and Papa prefer it that way.”

“Something that I also tell my daughter to consider—Johan hasn’t been a good role model for me, but the opinions he shares with Clara are the ones to write down and listen to,” said a voice. Maglina looked to see that the Earl Braxos was now standing beside her, a gods-send if there was one. “May I have our young guest for a moment? There is something I wish to ask her concerning a letter I sent her parents.”

The three men excused themselves and walked away, which was Maglina’s cue to exhale heavily, making the Earl laugh.

“How’s it feel to stretch your wings?” he asked.

“Exactly how I thought it would, Psi,” she said lowly so that no one else could hear. “Lena was right: she needs someone with tact in these sorts of situations, despite the fact many are tactless.”

“You’ll get used to it,” he replied. “Doesn’t excuse anything, but it’ll help with coping. You’re a sweet girl at-heart and that, if anything, will be your greatest asset.”

“Thank you.”


	33. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: nenabaez
> 
> Prompt: [Could we] have a glimpse of Sterling and Ori as they grew up and if their love took off. It's a such a lovely puppy love!
> 
> Originally posted: 06 February 2017
> 
> Notes: 1368 words; takes place during the fill where Maglina is at Psi and Saibra's dinner party, making Oriana 17 and Sterling 19; has a couple spoilers, such as Sterling's attempt at a career (!), and references to previous chapters; this particular sort of thing is tricky, mainly because I need to avoid implying things and stuff and what have you for reasons

It was the end of a long day at the border encampment and Sterling was glad. There was so little for him to do that after they were done with drills for the morning, he went to work copying and correcting maps with new surveying information for the remainder of the daylight hours. He ate his dinner in peace and was about to leave the mess tent when a woman brandishing a large bag stopped him.

"Second Lieutenant Sterling Smith?"

"Yes?"

"Mail for you." She handed him an envelope and continued on her way. He glanced down at the signature at the bottom of the envelope's flap side and couldn't help but smile.

_Oriana A. Pink._

He then continued his way back to his tent, as before, except now he had a reason to want to read in private. It wasn't going to be private in content by any means, but the thought of her writing warmed his heart. She did not know the happiness she brought him; there was a chance she would never know, in fact, that he was glad for a single-sleeping tent so that a neighbor did not need to see him pour over her words. There were other reasons, of course, mostly involving sharing a space with a stranger liable to bring back someone else for the night, yet it was still good that he could hide his schoolboy blush as he opened the letter and sat down to read.

' _Dear Sterling,_

' _Sorry for bothering you, but now I understand why Astra did as much as she did early when it came to certifications and exams with the University—this is so rigorous that it's incredible that she was even able to do it! Dad says that the courses he had to take in order to become certified were pretty difficult as well, so I guess some things never change, but I guess this is why being University-certified takes a lot of hard work and luck, and that there are brilliant people who can't claim that for themselves. The fact Dad did most of his studying completely unassisted sounds really fishy to me now that I know how tough it really is, but I will catch him in his lies eventually._

' _Everything is going okay otherwise. Maggie is off to the capital to visit with the Braxoses; the two of us still babysit for Astra when we can. The little guy is way too fast when he runs around! I'm glad you won't be gone for too much longer, because he gets angry any time one of us doesn't see him for a couple days, meaning he's going to be very cross when he sees you. He clings to just about anyone who will have him; Maggie, me, your parents, you name it. Still hasn't completely gotten used to turning while running though—the sight of him face-down on the floor makes your papa move quicker than he ever has done normally. Actually, I think he will be glad to see you, since Seren is not nearly as fun an uncle._

' _Thank you for allowing me to vent. Don't let the Cyberans get the best of you!_

' _Hugs_ ,

' _Ori_ '

Sterling sat there, rereading the letter a couple times before putting it down on his small desk. Nine years and he still was unsure how to breech the subject. They were technically both adults grown—why was it so difficult? He could still see his father's face, explaining to him the intricacies of their lives and restrictions due the positions they were born into. Smallfolk saw them as freedoms, as he had learned during his short tenure as a soldier, but really… one tiny slight and he could destroy his relationship with Oriana, his _sister's_ friendship with her, Kasterborous and Gallifrey's connection to Coal-on-the-Hill. His affections could impact thousands of people, for better or worse, and it was a thought that loomed over him treacherously.

Glad to have the letter anyhow, he took a pen and paper out of the desk drawer and began to write.

* * *

 A couple days later and Oriana was sitting at the kitchen table in the tutor's cottage, her work spread out before her. She had the remainder of the afternoon to herself for studying before her father returned home and they started making dinner and she wanted to use the time wisely.

She was elbows-deep into a history book about southern tribes before the kingdom's formation when a knock at the door made her jump in surprise. Going to answer it, she found it was a familiar servant from the castle, holding some envelopes in her hand.

"We had some of your stuff get mixed in with the Marchioness's on accident," the servant explained. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble at all," Oriana replied, taking the mail. The servant left and she sorted through the envelopes. Two for her father went into his pidgeonhole by the door, one for her mother that looked like a social correspondence went in hers—there was no need to forward it, as she was returning home in two weeks—and there was one for her. She turned it over and grinned at who it was from.

_Sterling A. Smith_

Oriana slightly squeaked in delight; yesterday she had received a letter from Maglina, and now she had one from her _other_ best friend. It probably was not proper for a lady to be best friends with a man, but she didn't care. So what if it was her breeding showing through or something like that? She liked getting news from Sterling because she worried, like anyone would. After putting together some tea, she sat back down at the table and opened her letter, using its arrival as an excuse to take a break.

' _Dear Ori,_

' _Thank you for your letter. Hearing from you will always be a treat—you are the furthest thing from a bother in my eyes. At least now I have an excuse to write you back. Since the new recruits out of the Academy have arrived, it looks like I'm generally being left alone again. It's probably better now that Tara is stationed on the Daleki front and she is not bothering me daily, but it still is annoying that I cannot seem to escape her shadow, even with her gone. I wouldn't trade any of my sisters for all the world's riches, but you know what I mean. At least annoying isn't the same as being treated poorly._

' _I will spare you the details since we've grown up hearing about this place—you I'm sure more than me—but now that I've had some time to myself, it seems as though the stories have never done this place justice. A year of being here off and on and I'm still amazed by the cold air in the summer mornings and how pale everything becomes in the dawn. The Violet Sky is far away and I'm already thinking about cocoa and warm pies and huddling together in front of a fire. We'll have to make sure to find the time for it, since one of the captains is going to be on maternity leave around that time, and I might actually be needed around here for once. Just between us, but I barely wait until my initial two years are up, because they will likely be my final two years. How your parents have ever done it is beyond me._

' _Your mum says hi, by the way. It's still weird calling her "Medical Officer Jones-Pink" instead of "Lady Martha", I'll have you know. At least it's not for much longer._

' _Regards_ ,

' _Sterling'_

"Silly," she chuckled. Always occupying stiff and elegant at the same time—that was Sterling alright. Oriana brought the letter and envelope up to her room and put them in the bundle on her desk of other letters from him. She had a collection of letters from all her friends, yet his pile was by far the largest. It did not come close to the amount of letters from her mother while on duty, it was still enough to make her not worry, because her friend was still safe.


	34. Seren and Jasper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: dominustempori
> 
> Prompt: As it's been hinted at in a previous chapter/prompt in the "Stars" 'verse, dare I ask for a glimpse into the life of Johann and Clara as new(ish) grandparents, or of the other siblings as new uncles and aunties?
> 
> Originally posted: 18 March 2017
> 
> Notes: 1200 words; takes place around the same time as the past two prompts, though not concurrently; Seren is eleven years old, which is disastrously young (though not unheard of) for an uncle, and Astra's baby is a year-and-a-half

“Now I need you to take good care of your nephew,” Lady Clara said sternly. “One of the maids will check in on you at dinnertime, so _behave_ or gods help you.” She held her eldest grandchild in one arm while she put a blanket and some toys down on the floor of her youngest child’s room. Seren was laying on his bed reading a book, looking very grouchy at the prospect.

“If a maid’s going to check in on us, why can’t _she_ watch Jasper? That way I can come to dinner as well,” Seren grumbled.

“ _No_ , because the Duke and Duchess are not very accepting of children, which you still are one, and you coming to dinner is going to be seen as a major slight,” she explained. Once her grandson was on his blanket playing happily, she went over to her son and took the book from his hands. “I expect you on your best behavior, young man.”

“ ** _Mama_** , it’s not _fair_! I shouldn’t have to watch him!”

“Astra was watching over you when she was around your age, and now you can do the same for her son.”

“Mama…”

“ _Now_.” She pointed at the baby sitting on the floor, which made his young uncle roll off his bed and trudge over to his side, sitting down sourly. Lady Clara watched as Jasper climbed into Seren’s lap and began babbling along, taking that as her cue to leave. She was barely out the door when Seren removed his nephew from his personage, putting him back down on the blanket and standing up.

“Okay you wee thief, this is how it’s going to be,” he scowled. Jasper looked around with wide eyes as his uncle pulled the blanket, toys and him and everything, over to the corner of the room. The tween then took chairs from the table on the other side of his quarters and carefully laid them on their side, making a wall that he fortified with some stacks of heavy books and a small traveling trunk.

Jasper stood, using the barrier as support, and cooed inquisitively. Seren instead put on his best imitation of his father’s crossest expression, which only made the toddler giggle.

“Now you’re going to stay there, got it?” he demanded. Seren skulked back to his bed and continued reading from the book he had been so rudely interrupted in. Every so often Jasper would make some noise and he would glance towards him. Sometimes it was due to a toy being thrown over the barrier, and others was simply because the baby was staring at him. Seren made a point of ignoring his nephew the best he could, rolling his eyes when the maid bringing them their dinner came in and gasped.

“Young Master Seren! What are you doing?!” she gasped. She abandoned the food trolley and rescued the baby from his makeshift pen. “What would your mother and sister say?!”

“Something, I don’t know,” the boy mumbled. He plucked a chair from the barrier and brought it over to the table, making it so there were now two places to sit. The maid busied herself with the baby for a moment, changing his nappy and seeing that his dress was clean, before putting food on the table.

“You do know that you were left in charge of Young Jasper because your parents and sister want you to learn how to take care of children, right?” the maid mentioned as she spoon-fed the toddler that was now in her lap. She watched the lad next to her as he shifted the carrots on his plate in irritation.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“…but you have to.”

“How come? Other people have nannies and governesses for their children—I hear people say it all the time—but we don’t. That’s weird for us, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is unusual, but don’t think that it is necessarily a bad thing,” she replied. “Your parents are loved for their unusualness, and in spite of the same, which I believe is a good trade-off.”

“I dunno… I think it’s not fair that _I_ have to suffer because of Mama and Papa needing to hide me from some stuck-up duchess, as if I would misbehave.”

“It looks like you’re misbehaving to me,” came a voice. Seren’s attention snapped towards the door and he gulped when he saw his father standing there, his expression far from a happy one. “Thank you, Claire—I will finish up here. Leave the trolley in the corridor?”

“Yes, milord; thank you milord,” the maid nodded. She passed the man his grandson and exited the room, leaving the three generations alone.

“So,” Lord Johan said as he walked over to the table and sat down to finish feeding Jasper, “Astra had a feeling that you needed to be checked in on by someone other than staff and it appears as though she was correct.” He watched his son silently eat, infuriated by the boy’s rudeness. “What’s that over in the corner?”

“The thief’s pen,” Seren grumbled. He knew he was in trouble based on the even tone of his father’s voice, and did not much care. “I don’t want him wandering around my room or touching my things, so he stays there.”

“Wrong answer,” his father said. “Let’s try this again: what’s that over in the corner?”

“I blocked Jasper in so he wouldn’t wander and I could read without watching over him.”

“That sounds more accurate.” He wiped some mushed peas from the toddler’s face and allowed him to smush and tear into the miniature loaf of bread by himself. “Why don’t you want to watch after Jasper?”

“Because I just don’t want to,” Seren frowned. “He doesn’t know anything about how to behave and smells horrible and it’s always Jasper, Jasper, _Jasper_. I’m sick of it.”

“Have you ever thought that your brother and sisters felt the same about you when you were born and merely had to get used to it?”

“No, because _I_ was good,” the tween insisted.

“Well, what I can say is that at this very moment, you are acting leagues more childish than Jasper is,” his father replied.

“You don’t understand, Papa—you never had a baby take over everything.”

“Lena did, and I was truly happy for it.”

“…but she was _your baby_. That’s different.”

“…and a baby belongs to the family it was born into, whether everyone in the family likes it or not.”

“I don’t care; we’re so _odd_ , Papa. Why are we so odd?”

“We are no odd, not for us,” Lord Johan said with finality. He put Jasper back down on the floor and stood, staring at his son. “Now finish your dinner, put the dishes and trolley back in the corridor, and _watch your nephew_.” He fluffed his cape and stormed out, not giving the tween a choice.

Seren grumpily finished his dinner and flopped down on his bed face-down. He felt a slight tugging on the blanket and moments later, to his chagrin, a weight dropped on his back. Jasper started babbling and playing with his uncle’s hair, which made said uncle gurgle into his pillow.

Why?


	35. Smith and Potts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: Amatalefay
> 
> Prompt: May I request Bill Potts making an appearance in the March of Kasterborous universe? (Possibly as one of Tara's future paramours?)
> 
> Originally posted: 06 October 2017
> 
> Notes: 3401 words; disclaimer in that I think Bill is Just Okay as a companion though I don’t hate her, so idk how this is actually going to seem for staunch ultra-fans; this is actually the latest-occurring of the SASBB prompt fills to-date and you’ll see what I mean in the story; can probably stop after the first two sections, but I get the feeling you wanted some lady lovin’, so I stretched it out to include kissing and whatnot (though I kept it T)

The ground rumbled, shaking the tent and all those huddled inside. Armed with little more than cooking knives, the mess tent staff was frozen in terror, for this was _not_ what they had signed up for. Pots, pans, and utensils fell around and on them, terrorizing the lot.

‘ _Please let me live, please let me live, please let me live!_ ’ the newest member of staff silently chanted to herself. While many of her coworkers wore military uniforms under their aprons, she wore civilian breeches and her hair in a giant, barely-tamed puff instead of close-cut or tied back. Crouched in the corner, holding her head in her hands, and scared out of her mind, it was clear that she didn’t belong there.

Eventually the world outside the tent calmed and the head cook poked his head out to investigate—the Cyberan army was pushed back and routine could continue. The mess tent staff cleaned up and quickly prepared for the long hours ahead; boiled water for wounds, food and drinks for weary soldiers, and prepping for the day ahead. It was late into the night when the head cook approached his newest civilian worker, pointing towards an empty cart.

“Potts, take some dinner to Major-General Smith’s tent,” he ordered wearily. “Stew, bread, potatoes, and tea; it’s your turn.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. Even though she was nearly ready to fall over, she gathered the requested items on a tray, put the tray on a cart, and pushed it through the camp. What sort of person was this Major-General Smith? Some crusty, shriveled old man based on the rank, or maybe a creepy old woman. The last thing she needed was someone’s grandparent to be chatting her up, just like so many others she had run into while out on the front. She knew she had to grit her teeth and bear it though—her assignment was only for a few months, anyhow.

Much to her surprise, however, the only person she saw when entering the Major-General’s tent was a woman about her age, sitting hunched by the fire in the corner. She was clad in an undershirt and trousers, with healing wounds and old scars visible, and her bobbed brown hair was a mess.

“Uh… ma’am…?”

Major-General Smith glanced her way, her eyes narrowing critically. “Who are you? Where is your uniform?”

“I’m not a soldier—just temp kitchen help. Wilhelmina Potts, ma’am.”

“Ah… that explains a lot,” the Major-General nodded, her face softening in understanding. “If that’s the case, then I’m _Tara_ , not _ma’am_.”

“…and I’m Bill.” She smiled and transferred the tray of food from the cart to a nearby table. “You sure are friendly, requesting I break rank.”

“You are a resident of the march—I am sworn to protect and serve _you_.” The Major-General stood and walked over towards the tent entrance, whispering something to a guard before turning back towards Potts. “Please, sit.”

“Uh, I really should get back to wor—”

“I just sent a message saying that I am keeping you for observation. Today was the first time you experienced battle, correct?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then your boss should have let you take the night off. A soldier experiencing their first battle is dangerous enough, but civilians are even more prone to battle sickness. Now please, sit.” Major-General Smith pointed towards her cot, which confused Potts slightly. She complied anyhow, unsure as Smith knelt down in front of her. “Now I will check your mind for any lasting terrors, okay?”

Potts leaned back nervously. “Wait… you’re a Time Lady…?!”

“Heh, I guess; didn’t realize anyone still called us that anymore. Now, _please_ , relax.”

“Why?!”

“I told you it is my sworn duty to help civilians. Please, let me into your mind so that I can ease what is setting in before it becomes a problem.”

“You… you’re allowed,” Potts agreed nervously. Major-General Smith placed her pointer fingers on Potts’s temples and the civilian immediately swayed and dropped onto the cot unconscious. The only thing she knew was a warm blanket being draped over her and a comforting feeling that eased her unlike she had been in years

* * *

When Potts woke, she found herself alone in the tent. The Major-General’s dishes were empty and stacked neatly on the tray, waiting to be put back on the cart and returned to the mess tent. Seeing how bright the light was outside, Potts scrambled to get up and gathered what she needed to in order to rush outside. It was mid-morning already by the looks of the sun, which meant her supervisor was bound to be furious.

“Where were you?!” he shouted once he saw her. Yup. Right on cue. “You missed the breakfast run! We were slammed without you!”

“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t…!”

“Of course you didn’t! The only reason I’m not shipping you out is because of the Major-General! Now get going on helping with the lunch prep!”

“Yes, sir!” Potts stepped into line and began helping her fellow mess staff prepare food for the day. The entire time she worked, however, there was a thought that stayed at the back of her mind to make her smile throughout the day.

The major-general’s cot had been extremely comfortable.

* * *

It was getting close to nighttime when Potts was finally allowed to leave her work. She took a tray of food with her into the main of the mess tent, sitting down away from everyone else as she silently ate. Soon after beginning her meal, someone sat down next to her; a quick glance confirmed that it was Major-General Smith with her own dinner.

After exchanging a simple greeting, he two ate in silence for a time. Potts, for some reason, wasn’t terribly surprised that the major-general was there, and in a way was actually sort of glad. They were about halfway through their meals when anyone decided to say anything else.

“Thank you,” Potts said, breaking the ice. “Boss was hopping mad, but said that you made it okay.”

“He knows better than to cross me,” Smith smirked. She ate some potatoes and frowned. “If you’re not a soldiering-type, then why are you here?”

“Pay’s good—really good—and it’s a quick change of pace. Different scenery’s good every once in a while, you know?”

“Ha—scenic Cybera, just over the ridge,” the Major-General scoffed. She grew quiet and gazed down at her food, contemplating. “Hey, I don’t do this very often anymore, but would you like to spend the night?”

“Pardon…?”

“Spend the night… you know… in my tent?” She glanced at the civilian and raised an eyebrow. “Am I reading you completely wrong or have you just not had a proper shag since dragging yourself out here?”

“Oh, that kind of…” Potts mumbled. She could feel her face grow warm in embarrassment. “Is it appropriate?”

“Whether it is or not, most people do,” Smith shrugged. “It was explained to me by a teacher back in the Academy. He said that when you’re out here, any day could be your last. Don’t use it as an excuse to cheat on your significant other, but do remember that if you see someone, take the chance if you can. There will be no one to blame but yourself if the following day a Dalek kills them or they are hauled back to Cybera, nor if the same is done to you.”

“Why me, though?”

“I… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the fact you’re a civilian out here, making you different, or it’s just been so long for me that I’m getting a bit too horny for my own good thanks to my drought.”

Potts giggled at that. “Well, you aren’t reading me wrong,” she said. “How long has it been?”

“Depressingly—I’m not eighteen and fresh out of the Academy anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Eighteen’s just a kid, anyhow; we’re a better age.” She then remembered a detail that she had nearly glossed over despite the fact it nagged at her. “Are… um… _we_ appropriate?”

“Two women? We’re dead common,” Smith snorted into her tea.

“No, I meant… you being a major-general and me just temp help. Is that… you know… appropriate?”

“Considering I was the one who came on to you, we’re good,” Smith said. “Besides, we’re on first-name basis, right Bill?”

It took a moment, but Potts smiled coyly at that.

“I guess we are, Tara.”

* * *

A clean pair of clothes in her bag, Potts walked through the twilight-lit encampment as she made her way from her tent to the major-general’s. She could feel the stare of people as she went by, but that didn’t matter. How long was she going to be here, anyhow? She went into Smith’s tent and shifted her bag on her shoulder, not sure what to do.

“Come in,” Smith said. She was over by the fire again, sipping a drink. “Do you like whisky?”

“No, I don’t really like alcohol—never got the taste for it,” Potts admitted. “Is that a problem…?”

“Not at all; just offering.” Smith put her glass down on a small table and stood, gesturing for Potts to come closer. “Go ahead and make yourself at home. I just need to clean up a bit.” She went to the washbasin and took off her shirt, only leaving her supports on as he scrubbed her face. Potts noticed that there were even more scars now that she could see nearly all of Smith’s back and it made her stomach churn. She put down her bag and went behind her hostess, bending down to press her lips upon an old shoulder wound.

“You’re covered,” she murmured.

“I’ve been on a long, hard road almost my entire life, Miss Wilhelmina,” she replied. Smith felt hands touch her waist and she allowed the contact, letting the tingling sensation it caused travel throughout her body. “I fought my first Dalek as a little girl, and I knew back then that this was the life for me. I go home to my sister and her family every so often, but my place is _here_ , and no one whose place is the front lines survives without scars.”

“How poetic.”

“Merely the truth,” Smith said. She dried her face and put the towel down before turning around in Potts’s grasp, perching on her toes to press a brief kiss to her lips. “Bed, please; have to get rid of the alcohol on my breath first.”

Potts grinned and did as she was told, going over to the cot. She waited as Smith carefully undressed her, fingers ghosting against her skin and sending little jolts through her system. Once all her clothes were off, Potts allowed Smith to sit her down, with the latter kneeling down in front of her. Smith pressed a kiss to Potts’s knee, gazing up at her from under her eyelashes.

Wilhelmina Potts knew she was a goner.

* * *

Snugged up along Smith’s back, Potts sighed contently as she hugged the sleeping woman under her arm. She felt her shift slightly and stayed still, not wanting to disturb her. Putting her nose on Smith’s shoulder, Potts took in her scent and smiled to the darkness. She was the most relaxed she had been in a long time, since even before traveling all the way to the Cyberan front, and for that, she was glad.

* * *

The next couple weeks passed peacefully, almost quickly, even. Potts and Smith kept to their separate parts of the camp, for the most part, and met in the major-general’s more spacious and private tent at night for sumptuous kisses and deft fingers exploring carnal nooks and crannies. They made great use of their time together while keeping the rest of their lives separate, which worked fairly well until one day when they both overslept and Potts ended up late for work.

“Sorry, sir!” she shouted over the noise of metal-on-metal that filled the kitchen. “I didn’t mean it! I won’t do it again!”

“Potts! Outside, now!” her supervisor shouted, pointing towards the back of the tent. The two of them went out the rear entrance flap, only for the head cook to spin on his heel and get directly into Potts’s face. “What—for all that is north of Braxos—are you playing at?!”

“I… uh… I don’t understand…”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you were with Major-General Smith last night and that you came here directly from her tent. You’re wearing the same stinking clothes as yesterday.”

“I don’t _stink_!”

“Uh-huh; bet you think you’re real smart stuff, getting in cozy with the Lady,” he sneered. “Well, I’m on to you, Potts.”

“With all due respect, sir, but what Major-General Smith and I do is our business, not yours,” Potts frowned. Her supervisor scoffed at that, not entirely sure he believed what he was hearing.

“It damn bloody well is my business, considering Major-General Smith isn’t _just_ that,” he barked. “She is Lady Tara Salvia of Gallifrey, our Lady Marchioness’s younger sister, and any little gold-digging tramp that catches the eye of a member of the governing family _is_ my business. Now end this stupidity before I figure out a way to have it ended for you!” He then went back into the tent, leaving Potts to stand in the relative quiet in shock.

Lady? Impossible. Smith did not seem like the type to hide something that big, nor did it seem very possible. Potts had seen the Marchioness from a distance once or twice while on the front and the two looked nothing alike. Besides… wasn’t the liege lady a mother to teens, governing for a couple decades at this point? Had she heard wrong? For Smith to be her age and have a sister that old… gods… all she could think about was what the poor former marchioness had been subject to in her youth, having an old man’s children, and ones so far apart in age at that. Potts shuddered and went back inside the kitchen, glad her preference and social position guaranteed her to never be in such a situation.

As she went back to work, and at times throughout the day, Potts found herself thinking about her current paramour and what the head cook had said about her. An odd feeling sunk in her gut, unable to dissipate with even the most heated thoughts of the other woman in bed, moaning her name and digging her nails into her skin. The end of her shift came and she went to Smith’s tent as was now usual, nearly throwing herself into lovemaking in order to rid herself of the thoughts. No one was to tell her who and when to love, least of all some sweaty military cook.

As they laid together though, skin sticking and limbs tangled beneath the bedding, the thought bothered Potts so much that she couldn’t help but ask, only if to clear her mind.

“Is it true?”

“Mmmpf…?” Smith mumbled into the pillow. She rolled over and faced Potts in confusion. “Huh? Is what true?”

“That you’re the younger sister of the Marchioness,” she clarified. “My boss yelled at me today and said that we need to stop seeing one another because you’re her sister. Is that true?”

Smith exhaled heavily, not wanting to wake up for such a conversation, yet doing so anyhow. “Yes; Marchioness Lena is my eldest sister. That doesn’t matter, though…”

“Yeah, it does!” Potts whispered. “Gods, she had to of been more than twenty when you were born, your poor mum, having children all that time, and…!”

“Lena’s only two years older than Astra and me,” Smith muttered. She paused for a minute and realized she needed more details. “Astra’s my twin, but is older than me by whatever minutes. Our youngest sibling is actually Viscount Blackpoole, and that brat’s… stars… gonna be thirty-two this winter.”

“Tara…? How old _are_ you…?” Potts asked. “You and I look the same age, but that’s impossible…”

“I’m forty-three—Papa’s people age slower than others and I inherited it. Can we just go to sleep now?”

“No!” Potts grimaced. She climbed out of the cot and began to put her clothes back on. “Gods… this is so gross…”

“Wait, what’s gross?”

“I didn’t realize I was shagging some pervert old woman, who thinks it’s okay to lie about her age!”

“I never lied about my age!”

“You let me think we were the same age, which is just as good as lying about it!” Potts finished putting her jacket on and started gathering the rest of her things. “Ugh, a royal old pervert…”

“I am not royal, or old, and try finding someone out here who _isn’t_ a pervert, whether in general or when it comes to being with their significant other,” Smith snapped. She had put a robe on, ready to argue. “Besides, you’re the one who’s making a big, bloody deal of it!”

“…because it _is_ a big, bloody deal! I know you said you’ve been here since the Academy, but I didn’t realize that was **_the year I was born!_** ”

“Bill, age is just a number, especially out here…”

“Is it?! Is it, really?!” Potts and Smith were now standing nearly nose-to-nose, glaring at one another with their rather cross eyebrows. “I thought I was having a good time with someone my age who just happened to be really good at their job, but no! Lying _nobility_ almost twice my age! People think I’m after your family’s money and position! How do you think that makes me feel?!”

“It shouldn’t make you feel anything because you know better!” Smith snapped. “I am just like you in nearly every sense—”

“No you’re not! If you lied about how old you are, and _who_ you are, then what else are you lying to me about?!”

“Bill!”

“I prefer to not sleep with _liars_. Good night, _Major-General Smith_ ,” Potts hissed. She stormed from the tent, not allowing Smith any chance for their conversation to remain private. Ignoring Smith calling her name from just outside her tent, Potts went back to her own, finding it just as bare and lonely as she remembered it. She flopped down on the cot and groaned loudly into the musty pillow.

Just when she was sure things were going well, too.

* * *

The following day, Wilhelmina Potts showed up early to the mess tent. She helped unload the weekly cart of supplies and handed a piece of paper to the head cook—her resignation—before hopping on the back to catch a ride to Gallifrey. From there, she supposed, she’d see what she could do about possibly making it back to Bristol, or maybe even bopping about in the capital for a while since she was already traveling. There was a vast array of options before her, and she contemplated them all on her way towards Paternoster, the closest town to the Cyberan border. It was there that she rented a room for the night, ready to sleep away her troubles.

Except, when she rummaged through her bag to find her hair pick, she found something she had no memory of putting there instead. It was a small package with a parchment wrapper. She opened it and found a small locket, with a note on the inside of the paper.

‘ _I’m sorry_ ,’ it read. ‘ _Please forgive me in your own time. If you are ever in Gallifrey again, do not hesitate to call on me. I do not regret our time together, at least know that much._

‘ _Yours, Tara_ ’

Examining the locket in the candlelight next to her bed, Potts found that it was made of simple steel with a single garnet, brown as their eyes, set into it. Opening it, she saw that there were two sketches in it set behind glass—one of her and one of Smith. It must have already been made as a gift and her temporary paramour had been trying to find a time to give it to her. She put it on and looked at herself in the wanly-lit, blotchy mirror next to her bed; it was plain, but gorgeous.

Potts found her pick and detangled her hair before going to bed, still wearing her new locket. At least, she knew, it could serve as a reminder of a better time and a warmer bed.


	36. Short Hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: randomthunk
> 
> Prompt: Does Marchioness Clara get the (not so) Very Important Haircut that occurred pre-s9? Anything with Johan waxing poetic is good.
> 
> Originally posted on: 09 October 2017
> 
> Notes: 2263 words; takes place not long after The Cadet Branch chapters (14 and 15) and before the Inconvenient Injury chapters (44 and 45); I am all about Johan/Twelve being a romantic sap towards his Clara and I think I got it; warning for teenage insecurity, husbando insecurity, and an absurd analogy whilst flirting

It was morning as the Marchioness sat down in front of her vanity and began to brush through her hair for the day. She heard the bustle in the nursery through the open door, her husband attempting to get the younger children ready for breakfast, with things apparently not going too well considering all the gentle scolding and giggles wafting towards her ear. He had insisted on handling it alone, so she left him to his devices. The door leading to the corridor opened once she began with her cosmetics, however, and her rather upset teenaged daughter came stomping into the room.

"Mama, what am I supposed to do with this?" she asked sharply. Her voice was positively drenched in frustration, though the Marchioness could tell it was not aimed at her. She glanced over and saw Lena with a brush in one hand and her other gesturing towards her short-cropped hair.

"Brush it? Comb it? I'm not entirely sure what you're saying, dear."

"I _look_ like I should be going to school with Tara, not about to go sit in court," Lena scowled. "I know the hairdresser _tried_ her best to make it look like a feminine cut, but I can't do this!"

"I never took you as a vain child, Lena," the Marchioness smirked.

"Less vain, more ' _I need to look the part of a liege lady_ ' and am suddenly working with less than what I'm used to due to circumstances beyond our control," Lena replied. She did not dare mention what had happened two weeks before, when they were nearly deposed from their spot on the governance chair by her father's great-uncle, necessitating a quick escape by her and her siblings that led to her severe haircut. "Can I sit out court until my hair at least somewhat grows back?"

"Lena Anthea, no you are _not_ skipping out on your duties simply due to an unfortunate haircut," her mother frowned. "They will think you vain and ill-tempered and everything we've been lucky enough to avoid having in a teenager having finally cropped up…" She stopped when she felt a slight tug at her skirts and suddenly her youngest was crawling up into her lap, clinging to her possessively. "Let's not fight in front of Seren right now, please. He's already clingy enough as it is."

" _Fine_ ," Lena grumbled. She turned on her heel and left just as the Marquis was entering the room, Maglina hanging off his shoulders.

"What is the matter this time?" he wondered.

"She doesn't think she can make her hair suit her position in its current state," the Marchioness deadpanned, returning to her cosmetics. She leaned forward slightly, one hand holding her youngest in place and the other concentrating on eyeshadow. "Johan, if I ever have the misfortune of meeting your great-uncle again, I will murder him on the spot, the poor rugs be damned."

"…because Lena doesn't like her hair?" Maglina asked curiously.

"No, starlet, because of _why_ you and your sisters all have short hair," the Marquis said. He reached behind him and tickled her, causing the girl to giggle as she slid down his cape to the floor. Patting her on the head, he gently pushed her towards the nursery. "Go get Sterling and gather up your sisters for breakfast."

"Yes, Papa," she said. She gave both him and the Marchioness a kiss on the cheek before taking Seren from her mother and pulling him along to fetch their elder brother.

Moving slowly, the Marquis walked over to behind his wife's chair and bent forward, kissing the top of her head and allowing his hands to travel down her bodice. He continued pressing light kisses as his lips traveled towards her ear, whiskers teasing the skin just above her neck.

"You are going to make me lose my focus," the Marchioness stated.

"I don't know why you bother with that stuff," he replied. "You are beautiful without it."

"Thank you, but I no longer look the part of a blushing maid barely older than our daughters," she said. "We have images to keep up, you know."

"Lady Clara Oswald of Blackpoole, Kasterborous, and Gallifrey—mother of my stars and Doctor of my hearts—you will never look different to me," he murmured in her ear, his voice low and smooth. His words ignited a spark low in her belly, though it was one she had to smother quickly.

"We have ten minutes until breakfast— _not now_ ," she chuckled.

Leaving a parting kiss on the crook of her neck, the Marquis gave the Marchioness a wink and left, making sure their youngest children were successful with bothering their eldest children into attending breakfast. He herded all six down to the table, only for a servant to hand him a note as he was placing Seren atop his child's chair.

_Don't wait for me –Clara_

That was enough instruction for the children and they began to eat their food with all the voraciousness typical of growing bodies. The Marquis picked at his plate however, not entirely sure he liked the idea of his wife spending so much time on what he saw to be such a useless thing. It was obviously important to _someone_ , or else she would not bother, yet who could it of been? Sure she had a few grey hairs here and there; he had been entirely grey at her age and did not see much of a problem with it. Stars in the sky, they were already _wed_ when he was her age… such an interesting thought to realize. He sipped his tea and watched over the children, knowing deep in his hearts that things were going to be perfectly fine.

* * *

As the time for court drew closer, the Marquis began to wonder and worry about where his missing wife was, as she had not appeared at either breakfast or in their office. He went with Lena down towards the governance hall; it was poor form to delay hearing the people's grievances and propositions after an attempted coup and _no one_ would have reason to speak poorly of his governance habits.

"I still don't want to go, Papa," Lena groused.

"No one will mock you, starlet," the Marquis said, patting his heir's shoulder. "It was not a trivial dalliance, and if someone thinks they can make a fool of my daughter, then they not only have her to answer to, but her papa as well."

"Thanks," she said. They entered the governance hall and took their seats on the dais in the front, he on the Doctors' Chair and her in the Earlessa's, and waited for the hall to fill in with those scheduled to speak and those who merely wished to hear and those who did not yet know their role for the day. They were nearly ready to begin when the Marchioness finally came into view, walking down the middle of the room with her head held high and commanding an intense air about her.

Except, as the Marquis, Earlessa, and everyone else in the governance hall noticed, she looked very different from before. Gone were her long brown locks, for her hair had been shorn so that it ended right above her shoulders. A commoner's cut, certainly, and it spread whispers throughout the hall quicker than wildfire. She sat next to her husband and placed her hand on his, giving him a smile.

"Shall we hush them and begin for the day?" she asked.

"I… uh…" was all he could stammer out.

"Mama," Lena whispered, "what did you do?!"

"Made certain that I know what to do with short hair and make it seem more ladylike," she replied. She gently placed her hand on the side of Lena's face before standing, spreading her arms out wide. "I call this session of court to order. May the first speaker on the agenda come forth."

They nearly did not want to do so.

* * *

Late that night, after dinner and tea and putting the young ones to bed, the Marquis and Marchioness were going through their bedtime rituals. The lady could feel her husband's eyes on her as she washed the cosmetics from her face and ran the brush through her hair. It took nearly no time at all for her to finish and settle down into bed, picking up the book she had left beside the vase of plum blossoms on the nightstand.

"Yes, Johan?" she asked, her eyes on the book as she found her page. "I can tell when you're staring at me."

"I am not staring," he lied from the wardrobe.

"Rule Number One: the Doctor lies," she quipped. "Sometimes it is used for good, but right now it's simply silly." She felt the mattress shift and the Marquis's long, deft fingers swept a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You didn't need to do that for Lena," he said softly. "She needs to learn to deal with things on her own."

"Yes, and you were never a teenaged girl," she replied. His fingers began tracing along her face, down her jaw and towards her chin, feather-light and with more electricity that the storm that rumbled in the distance. "Don't worry—it's merely a morale-booster, nothing more."

"It makes me concerned that you worry too much about some pudding-brained opinion," he frowned. The Marquis carefully pulled back the bedding and exposed the lower half of her nightdress, sitting back down to massage the foot closest to him. "You are gorgeous, with barely a fault to your name, and someone as peerless as yourself shouldn't have to bow to anyone else's standards, or else our daughters shall be at risk for thinking that is how _they_ should behave as well."

"Our daughters are smarter than that," she said.

"Yes, though even the most intelligent of us can have our thoughts muddled in confusion."

"Johan, even you cannot deny that Lena and I are in odd positions for highborn ladies not being groomed for a serdarship or international diplomacy; besides, you are too particular about your own appearance to say a _word_."

He bent to kiss the top of her foot before moving on to massage the other. "Oh…?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed you fuss over your hair and whiskers in the mirror, or how you are choosy over the style and fabrics of your clothes. You match your stockings to my dress, for gods' sake."

"I do not," he huffed. She raised an eyebrow at him and he could not help but look away. "Alright… maybe _occasionally_ …"

"…and not to mention how the lining of our cloaks match, the leather of our boots, the—"

"So I might be a bit particular; can anyone blame me when I have the best, cleverest, most sensual and beautiful wife in all the kingdom?" After kissing the top of her second foot, he slid himself up the mattress and took the book from her hands before bringing her knuckles to his lips. "I want nothing less than the middling and smallfolk to love and fear you out of respect for who you are, not your appearance, and the same for Lena and the rest of our children. We should be careful of the example that we set for them."

"My daft old man, you really don't get it, do you?" she sighed, smiling all the while. She shifted to sit on her legs and leaned into his embrace, kissing him gently and scratching at his scalp. "Then again, you did try to pass that nonsense on me earlier."

"What nonsense?"

"That I don't look any different to you." She laughed for a moment before cold realization hit her. Leaning back, she locked eyes with her husband. "You really don't, do you?"

"I have never known a love like yours, and I shall be lowered into the earth with your name etched onto my hearts," he murmured. "You have given me all I thought was lost and more, putting your hopes, dreams, and desires in my care with hopes that I could keep them alive and well. We nearly became lonely ships that passed in the fog-laden harbor, yet the storm that is our love came barreling down and we are docked aside one another instead, together until we are both sunk by furious winds and piercing rain. You are just as elegant riding out that storm as you are under a calm, clear sky."

He leaned forwards, carefully easing his wife back until she was laying on his back and he propped up on his elbows above her. With their hips and chests pressed together, he nuzzled her neck and hummed when he could feel her body shiver.

"How my fortunes are so great, I still do not understand," he continued along her throat, "yet somehow I have bedded a bride who only grows more beautiful with each passing year. Birthing and weaning suckling babes brings you only radiance beyond compare, and the stress of governance only allows your elegance and grace to flourish in excess, creating a vision of loveliness that I do not deserve at my side." He could feel her back arch and her hips press into what was now his stomach, thanks to his traveling kisses. "Permission to board, Captain, ma'am?"

"Shut up and _take me_ , you idiot," she hissed, pulling him back so that they could kiss. It was hungry, passionate, and above all, it was endearing.

He smirked against her mouth and hiked their nightdresses, ready to do as he was told.


	37. The End Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompter: randomthunk
> 
> Prompt: Marquis/Marchioness 'verse, the equivalent of Christmastime for them and how that all works. Would prefer something pre-children but take your spin with it.
> 
> Originally posted: 02 January 2018
> 
> Notes: 1488 words; takes place the winter before Clara is pregnant with Lena, so still during the timeline of In Want of An Heir (which is three years old, holy wah), during their courting phase; not really a Christmas equivalent, but close enough (you kinda need a Jesus Christ to have Christmas, even the secular version, due to word entomology, and I've always figured the DW version to be more of a close translation of the secular side than anything); Johan usually does not need a reason to give gifts to Clara so a gift-giving holiday is sort of a moot point

With the Violet Sky having come and gone, the Doctor and His Companion were alone in their private parlor, taking a relaxing day off from their duties. They were cuddled up on the settee, each reading a book of their own choosing; she was sitting with her legs folded beneath her, whilst he laid with his head in her lap.

"Johan…?" The Marchioness closed her book with a finger to mark the page, furrowing her brows in thought.

"Yes, dearest?" the Marquis hummed in reply. He tilted his head in order to lean into the hand that was gently scratching his scalp.

"Why don't we do anything for the End Moon in Gallifrey?"

That caught his attention. He placed the book open-faced on his stomach and stretched to look up at her face. "Did you used to celebrate the End Moon in Blackpoole?"

"Johan, most places celebrate the End Moon along with solstice," she chuckled. "I mean, the first dark moon after the shortest day of the year? We used to mark our calendars by it."

"Yes, when we were uncivilized and warring with one another and all living in sod-built huts that sprout flowers on the outside every spring." The Marquis wiggled his fingers towards his wife's face and she chuckled. "Would you like to live in a sod hut that sprouts flowers every spring?"

"Not particularly; wouldn't those smell?"

"Not sure—never been in one—though I am sure our forebears would quite enjoy living in the stone and timber houses we do now and not needing to rebuild every time their houses turn into a puddle in the rain." He placed his book on the table in front of the settee and sat up, keeping close to the Marchioness. " _Shall_ we celebrate the End Moon?"

"We don't _have_ to; I simply want to know why we _don't_."

"I… I'm not entirely sure," he replied. "What do you do?"

"It's mostly visiting with family, eating special treats… things like that," she explained. She slid down the cushion and nestled into his side, content as he wrapped his arm around her. "I can still taste the parkin that our old cook used to bake. Her grandchildren would come over and we'd sit there, watching her all afternoon as she made enough for the entire mansion. It was hard when it first came from the ovens, but a while of sitting and it would be as moist and sweet as any other sweet she would make for us."

"That sounds like it was fun."

"It was—we were her taste-testers, as if she needed them." The Marchioness then glanced up at her husband, looking at him carefully. "Did you ever do things like that with Melody?"

"…yes, we would," he replied quietly. "We were rotating through a couple different cooks at the time, but there was one who would always set aside time for us while he was here. He snuck us treats and sometimes even let us help him cook or bake when he was not pressed for time."

"Why didn't he stay around?"

"Got caught shagging a maid in one of the bedchambers of the guest wing—both were sacked immediately if my memory serves me right." He smiled as his wife stifled a laugh; cogs began turning in his head and he knew what needed to be done. "Are there any other holidays I need to be warned about before we take this much further? Nearly four years and there are things I am still discovering about you."

He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, allowing his other hand to travel down past her former paramour's cuff and to her skin, lightly dragging his fingers over her exposed arm. She giggled softly and knelt up on the cushion, bringing herself to eye-level with him so that they may kiss at their leisure. They did, and little more was said about the End Moon that night.

* * *

The following morning, as the Marchioness sat in her office tending to paperwork, the Marquis was down in the kitchens, the entire staff assembled before him. They were nervous with their liege lord standing before them sternly, hands behind his back and a thought-filled frown on his face. He could not blame them for any apprehension; rarely did he visit and even rarer was the good sort of visit.

"Are they all here?" he asked the head cook. She nodded and he continued. "Right then; all I need is to ask one question and then you are all free. Does anyone know what parkin is and how to make it?"

Most of the collected servants stood there with baffled expressions. Only one kitchen assistant—a small, mousy woman barely of-age—raised her hand sheepishly before the Marquis.

"I do, milord," she said quietly.

"Then what is it?"

"A ginger-cake with oats and treacle that's mighty sticky—I helped me mum make it every year 'round this time when I was still at home."

"Do you think you would be able to bake some as a surprise for Her Ladyship by the End Moon?"

The request boggled the servant's mind. "Excuse me for any impudence, milord, but do you know what you are asking? Parkin is not a treat meant for highborn tastes. I feel like forcing Her Ladyship to eat it would be cruel."

"It was something the cook in Blackpoole made during her childhood; if it is truly for middling folk or the baseborn, then it does not matter," he explained. "We do not celebrate the End Moon here in Kasterborous, but that does not bar someone from indulging whether they grew up with the tradition or not."

"Then I can do as milord commands," the servant said. She curtsied shakily and the Marquis dismissed the gathered servants to tend to their duties. He left the kitchens content, knowing that he would not be disappointed, for even if the treat was terrible, it would be the thought that counted.

* * *

Nearly a week later and it was the night of the End Moon. With only the stars twinkling in the violet-tinged sky, it made the Marchioness wistful and thought-driven as she went through the day. Memories of End Moons past consumed her, only interrupted by her husband bringing her into conversation, a laugh on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you ready to retire for the day?" he asked. They were in their office, tending to the remaining paperwork that had piled up during their few days off around the Violet Sky. The Marquis watched his wife's face as her mind came back to her, her skin flushing in embarrassment.

"Yes," she agreed, "it's probably safer that I do so. I don't know what's wrong with me today." She took hold of his arm as they navigated the castle halls, making their way up to their private wing. "All I've been doing is thinking of the past—that's dangerous, isn't it?"

"Not entirely," he assured her. "I think of the past often, but as long as one thinks about the present and future as well, it is not a bad thing." They made the arduous climb of the main staircase and found the private wing with ease—muscle memory meant that they could have found it in their sleep. "Is it at least good things you are thinking of?"

"Bittersweet at worst; it is childhood memories for the most part," she admitted. She let him lead her into their chambers, where tea was already set and waiting for them. Sitting down, she noticed that there was something different about the spread: a small serving dome covered their snack, obscuring it from view. "Johan, what is this?"

"A treat I thought you might like," he said. The Marquis sat on the other end of the settee and lifted the serving dome, revealing their snack underneath. Soon as she saw the plates underneath, the Marchioness gasped in delight.

"Parkin! Johan! How did you…!"

"A member of the kitchen staff is from the area just outside of Blackpoole and, luckily, knows how to make it," he replied. He passed her a plate and began to pour tea as she ate a forkful, his heart swelling at the sound of her squeaking in joy.

"It's so close to what I remember!" she grinned. "You had this made for me?"

"A small and simple gift to dote on you is worth more than all the riches in the kingdom," he claimed. He kissed the side of her head and pressed his forehead against the kiss. Oh, how her happiness made him feel so alive, he did not know. "You like it?"

"I love it—thank you, Johan." She put the plate down and kissed his lips gently. "This has been the best End Moon surprise I have had in a very long time."

"You mean it?"

"Always."


End file.
